The Midgardian Blogger
by Marianne Brandon
Summary: After the Chitauri attack, aspiring photojournalist Clara McKenna encounters the Avengers in a shawarma restaurant, where Thor in particular catches her eye. An impulsive idea leads to a daunting request from Asgard's royal family, and an adventure for which she is desperately unprepared. Includes all Avengers at some point; focuses on Thor, Loki, & OC.
1. When the City Clears and Sun Ascends

**A/N: All right, guys, I'm gonna give it to you straight. This is a story idea that came to me in the middle of the night, after a long "what if?" discussion with a friend about Thor, Loki, and the Avengers. The plot****—**there is an actual plot involved!—takes place after the end of _The Avengers _movie. I am no expert on Norse mythology or the Marvel universe (I'm mostly going by the movies here), but I _will_ try to do my research and stay as faithful as I can!

* * *

It could have been a lot worse, Clara realized as she picked her way around debris and overturned vehicles. Now and again her stomach seized up when she saw another body—a civilian, a cop, or once in a while even one of those hideous, horrible alien creatures. Only a few hours after the attack, and Manhattan was eerily still—or this particular street, at least. In the distance, she could hear sirens and shouts as fire fighters and paramedics tried to reach people, to help, to make sense of the mess.

She stopped to take another series of photos of the wreckage—storefronts ripped clean away, walls blackened by explosives, huge fragments of fallen statues. Everyone had seen it happen—it had been on the television, on Twitter, the radio, before their very eyes. But it was an alien attack. There was no making sense of that.

Grasping her camera like a holy relic, she kept walking, slowly, taking it all in. She stopped to shoot photos so frequently that it had taken her an hour to walk a quarter-mile. The enormity of what happened, and the relief that the danger _seemed_, at least, to be over, nearly overwhelmed her. That this city, her home for seven years, should be so broken…it was almost too much to think about.

She paused to pick a shard of glass out of her boot, wondering if she should wrap up her little photo excursion and go home. She had enough shots by now, surely.

A scraping sound interrupted her thoughts. She looked up to see the first sign of life on that block in the past hour. Across the street, a dark-haired, middle-aged man in a large apron was sweeping in front of what must have once been a store. Clara smiled at the beautiful absurdity of the sight—a defiant grasp for normalcy after such chaos and destruction. She lifted her camera and zoomed in to take a few candid photos of the man from where she stood, then she made her way across the rubble toward him. Over the odor of smoke and sewage she caught the scent of roasting meat and fresh bread, and her stomach growled in response.

She paused to dig into her pockets, but realized in her haste to leave her apartment she had brought her photography equipment and her Metro card, but forgot to throw her wallet into her camera bag. She didn't even have her phone with her. Clara sighed. She'd have to wait for a snack until she was back in her apartment. Too bad—whatever it was, it smelled delicious.

The man had seen her approach, then stop, then come forward again. Despite his suspicious expression, she smiled, holding her camera protectively in one hand and keeping her bag close against her with the other as she walked. He stopped sweeping to watch her. Avoiding his gaze, she glanced over the building. One side was a convenience store that looked like it had never even opened that day, and on the other side was a barber shop. Both were empty Above the open space where the man was sweeping, she saw a painted sign advertising "The best shawarma in New York City." Now she was even more disappointed about forgetting her wallet.

"Hi," Clara said to the man when she finally stood in front of him. "Are you still open for business?"

"No, we're closed," he said in a thick accent that might have been Turkish. "A lot of damage. Broken glass everywhere."

"I know," she said. "Well, whatever's going on in there, it smells fantastic. Would you mind if I got some pictures? There's this—"

"No pictures!" the man said. "Leave them in peace, let them rest. They don't want to be bothered." He lifted his broom slightly as though he intended to brush her away with the rest of the dirt and shrapnel.

Clara stared at him, confused. "Who's they?" she asked.

"Go on, don't bother them!"

Certain that the man might be a little insane, she stepped away carefully to continue down the sidewalk. She never made it past the open storefront, however. Glancing inside the shawarma restaurant, her eyes barely took in the crooked pictures, broken furniture, and floor scattered with rubble. In the middle of the room, several tables had been pushed together, and sitting around it, eating in comradely silence, were New York's heroes.

The sight was so incredible that all she could do was stop and gape, forgetting the crazy man with the broom, forgetting the horrors that the city had just witnessed. The group—the Avengers, hadn't they called them?—responsible for saving New York, and planet Earth in general, from certain doom was sitting there, in this nearly destroyed little restaurant, like it was no big deal.

"Oh, holy hell," Clara finally whispered.

"I told you to get out!" the man said, stomping angrily toward her. He smacked her boots and poked at her jean-clad legs with his broom. "Leave them alone."

"Leave _me _alone!" Out of the corner of her eye, she saw some of the Avengers turn their heads to watch. She stepped back from the man, but did not run away. "What is your _problem_?"

"Hey, whoa, Deniz, it's okay."

Clara turned to see one of them get up from his seat and approach the broom-wielding man with his hands held out as if to placate him. Her eyes, already wide open at the sight of the Avengers, got even wider when she recognized him as Tony Stark—and Iron Man. Deniz looked at him and nodded before going back to his sweeping, occasionally throwing some dirty looks in Clara's direction.

"Thanks," Clara said. "I just…had to get a look."

"Well, I'm used to it," Stark said with a nonchalant shrug. He looked down and pointed at her camera. "Cool toy." He smiled, but became serious again and looked directly into her face. "So who are you with?"

"I'm sorry?"

"CNN, Fox News, Huffington Post?"

"Oh, well, actually—"

"ESPN? The Daily Show?"

She had to laugh at that one. "Actually, I'm just…here for myself. I mean, my blog."

He groaned as he turned his back to her. "Bloggers," he mumbled. "The worst."

"Hey, I happen to—"

"Save it, sister," Stark said, sauntering to the table and sitting back down in his chair. Clara finally began to feel embarrassed at having this exchange in front of the others. So much for making a good impression in front of celebrities—and _these _celebrities, besides.

She stood there in front of them, feeling completely idiotic but also unable to move. Stark went back to eating his shawarma as though nothing had happened. Beside him sat an enormous man with long blonde hair, wearing strange silver armor and a red cape, of all things. Thor, hadn't someone called him on the news? He had been munching on his shawarma with enthusiasm, but after Stark stopped to intervene with "the press," he watched her with as much suspicion as the man with the broom.

Next to him was another blonde man, almost as massive, wearing a patriotic costume that told her well enough that he had to be Captain America. The costume would have looked ridiculous on anyone else, but for all that they had done for the city, she figured they could wear whatever they pleased. It helped that he was looking at her with a little more sympathy before he returned to his own meal. Next to him sat a redheaded woman in a black leather bodysuit, and beside her sat a man with short brown hair, also in a uniform made predominantly of black leather. Both of them had their backs to Clara and ignored her completely.

The curly-haired man on Stark's other side leaned toward him and mumbled something. Stark sighed and wiped his mouth with a napkin before responding.

"Look, Banner, if you want to give her a personal interview, that's your business, but all I want right now is to sit and eat my meal. It's a damn shame this place doesn't serve alcohol."

"I don't need to _interview _everyone," Clara finally said. "I just want some pictures. I mean, some quotes would be good too. Mr. Stark, I don't know why you hate bloggers, but I can promise you that everything I say will be purely complimentary. I've got readers out in the Midwest and California and across the world that would love an up-close look at what happened today and who pretty much saved the planet." She grinned and added, "And I swear, I'll only shoot you from your best angle."

It seemed to placate him. He smiled a little and tilted his chin several different ways, as though practicing for a photo shoot. She tried not to laugh; some people got so ridiculous when they were put in front of a camera.

"Have you figured out which is my best angle yet?" he asked her.

"Well, I was thinking—"

"Trick question, they're all my best angle."

"Right."

The black-clad pair stood up from the table. The red-haired woman nodded at Clara, but turned to the others and said in a low, even voice, "We'll have to take a pass on that and get back to Fury instead."

"You sure, Agent Romanoff?" Stark asked. "Might be fun. Agent Barton? You might have a good angle in there somewhere."

"I don't think Fury would be happy if S.H.I.E.L.D. agents encourage any more publicity," Agent Romanoff said. She looked at the silent Agent Barton standing beside her, and he nodded. They turned and walked out of the restaurant, glass and broken plaster crunching under their feet. Before they disappeared around the corner, Barton looked over his shoulder at the table.

"Enjoy your GlamorShots," he said.

Clara turned back to the other men sitting around the table. "Look, if it's really that much of a problem, maybe we can work something else out."

"Too late now," Stark said. "You promised good coverage. You're committed."

"Great." She sat down in the chair that Agent Barton had recently abandoned and gave a smile to the dark-haired man sitting next to Stark. He smiled back, somewhat timidly, and watched her as she set her camera on the table, then dug around in her bag until she found a discarded pen and an old theater program. It would have to do for taking notes.

"I'll let you finish eating before I start taking pictures," Clara said. "But for now…talk to me, guys. What happened today? Well, first, I better be clear about who you all are." Using her pen to point, she said, "Captain America, also known as…Steve Rogers? Correct?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said, beginning to grin and seeming surprised that a civilian knew who he was.

Clara turned to the man on her other side. She could not remember seeing him on the news coverage of the alien attack, but he must have been involved somehow. "I didn't catch your name?"

"Dr. Bruce Banner," he said reluctantly.

Clara gasped when she recognized the name. "Oh my…well, yes, of course you are. I didn't think…" She laughed nervously. "You looked different on the news."

He chuckled. "Yeah, I try to let the…other guy fight those kinds of battles."

Finally Clara got up the nerve to focus on the man sitting across the table from her. She had been avoiding looking directly at him, although she knew he had been watching her since she started talking to Stark. It was intimidating, to say the least. He was obviously a powerful warrior with a fearsome presence, despite the somewhat anachronistic uniform. He probably could crush her skull between his hands as easily as she crumpled a napkin.

Even so, up close, the face beneath the blonde hair—currently tangled and streaked with the dirt, sweat, and blood of battle—and his thin blonde beard was quite a thing of beauty. She thought of the Norse gods she studied in an "Art and Mythology" class, and how intrigued she had been. Unlike the words and images in a textbook, however, this man was very, very real. So real, in fact, that Clara could see weariness and pain in his very blue eyes.

Her throat seemed to be dry. She swallowed and managed to say, "I think I heard someone call you Thor. Is that correct?"

"I am Thor Odinson of Asgard," he said, his voice booming even at a normal volume.

It took her a moment to think of a response, and even when she did, she came up with nothing better than, "Okay then." She cleared her throat. "And where is that, exactly?"

"Hey, what about me?" Stark said, shattering the spell that Clara seemed to be under. She looked at him with raised eyebrows. He was leaning back in his chair, hands spread out, apparently baffled that she could be paying attention to anyone else. The man's reputation as a diva was definitely deserved.

"Oh, I know all about you, Mr. Stark," Clara said. "You and your father were legendary where I grew up."

"Where was that?" he asked. Before she answered, she seemed to see awareness flash across his face. He leaned forward, squinting at her. Clara grew nervous; had he figured it out already? Of course she couldn't expect to conceal it, not with a group of superheroes, but she had hoped to avoid the subject if at all possible.

"What's your name, anyway?" he asked. "And who are you working for?"

"My name is Clara McKenna," she said. "And I told you, I'm working for myself."

Stark cocked his head. "You're Senator McKenna's daughter." He sat back in his chair, still looking at her. "I'd recognize that chin anywhere. You've got his nose, too. How is the old man?"

"Good, I guess. I haven't spoken to him in about…two years. Now, getting back to today—"

"Really? Two years? Something happen between him and the little princess? I'm guessing a falling out over Daddy's politics. You here to find out if I'm worthy of the support he's given to Stark Industries all these years?"

"No, I already thought you were," she said. "It's just not relevant right now. I just want to talk to the heroes of the hour and get some photos. I'm not here to talk about my father. If you want to know how he's doing, ring up his office in D.C. He'd probably love to hear from you."

"A government family," Stark said. "Is that how you knew who Rogers was? And recognized Banner's name?"

"Well, they weren't exactly secrets, were they?" Clara asked. "But yes, it was kind of hard to avoid hearing about stuff like that." She looked at Thor again, then realized it was a bad idea. It was almost painful, just how gorgeous he was. She found herself desperately wishing she could see him smile.

"I can't say I've ever heard of this gentleman before, though," she added. _This gentleman? _she thought to herself. _The hell is this, a Jane Austen story?_

"S.H.I.E.L.D. was more careful about concealing my previous visit to Earth," Thor said. "I fear it cannot be so avoided this time."

"Visit to Earth?" Clara repeated. "So you…don't live on this planet?"

"Midgard is under my protection, but Asgard is my home. I will be returning there soon."

"I see," Clara said. She couldn't help feeling a little disappointed to know that he was not going to be around for much longer. "Well, if you don't mind, I'd love to talk to you a little bit before you go, about Asgard and everything. I was going to post photos about what happened here today, maybe a little bit about who the Avengers are. But any extra material would be great…again, if you don't mind."

"Again, chopped liver over here," Stark said, waving a hand in her direction.

In response, Clara lifted her camera and snapped one photo of him. She looked at the LCD panel and grinned; contrary to his insistence that he had no bad angles, candid photos were not particularly kind to Tony Stark. She leaned toward Dr. Banner and tilted the camera toward him. He looked at Stark's wide-open eyes and the strange effect of a temporary double chin and laughed.

"That one's good enough, you think?" Clara asked.

"It's perfect," he said. "His best look yet."

"Smile," Clara said, lifting her camera again, but this time placing Dr. Banner in the viewfinder. She took better care with this one, pausing long enough to let Dr. Banner prepare. She didn't want to piss him off with a bad photo and prompt the "other guy" to come out. Fortunately, it was a flattering picture—she did not have to worry.

Chuckling over Stark's photo helped everyone relax, especially when Clara promised him a do-over. She took paired photos, individual photos, and group photos—even a few shots with the restaurant staff. Even Stark forgave her for the first bad picture, and offered to take one of her with the others. Her desire for a picture with Thor was even greater than her fear of letting another pair of hands touch her camera. But Stark was a technological genius—it was probably better off in his hands than anyone else's, even Clara's.

The only one who did not seem able to relax and have fun with the impromptu shoot was Thor, and it bothered her more than she knew it should. Finally, as she was showing Rogers how she used her camera—without letting him lay a finger on it—Thor stepped forward, speaking louder than he had been doing so far.

"Enough of this," he said. "We have work to do now. The Tesseract must be contained, and I must prepare my return to Asgard."

Despite his interest in Clara's explanations of her camera, Steve Rogers practically snapped to attention when Thor spoke, prepared to carry out the necessary duties. She clutched her camera to her chest, wishing she could think of something to say to keep the fun from ending.

"Banner and I'll go back to Stark Tower and make sure Selvig has what he needs," Stark said. "Meet us at Central Park with the war criminal when you're ready to go. What about you, Uncle Sam," he asked Rogers, "how about I get you a less spangly outfit?"

"A regular pair of pants _would_ be nice," Rogers said. He turned back to Clara. "It was nice meeting you, ma'am. I hope I get to see those pictures sometime."

"Hold up," Clara said, digging into her bag once again. Yes! There were still some business cards left. She handed one to Rogers. "Here's my card. It's got my website on it, so you can read my blog and see the photos as soon as they're posted. If they don't need too much Photoshop, I should get some up later today or tomorrow."

Rogers took the card politely, but his smile was blank. Clara wondered if he understood a single word that had just come out of her mouth. _How sad_, she thought, _to come from an age without blogs and Photoshop_.

"I'll explain it on the way back," Stark said, clapping the Captain on the back. He shook Clara's hand. "Good times, McKenna. Tell your dad hi for me, if you ever speak to him again."

"Thanks for the laughs," Dr. Banner said, also shaking her hand before leaving with Rogers and Stark. "But if you decide not to use any of my photos, that's okay by me."

The three men disappeared around the corner as Agents Romanoff and Barton had done, leaving Clara standing in the middle of the restaurant with Thor while a couple of waiters were busy making an attempt to clean up.

"So," Clara said to Thor, "you're leaving today?"

"Yes."

"You've had quite an eventful visit."

He sighed, looking even more exhausted than before. Despite his insistence that they get going, Thor did not look like he was in much of a hurry. Clara felt sorry for him, even if she did not know quite what was going on. Obviously he was fatigued from the battle earlier that day, but there seemed to be something else on his mind.

"In truth, I dread our return to Asgard. I know that my brother must face justice, but it will not be an easy sight."

"I know how that feels," Clara said. "My sister got a DUI once, and my parents flipped. I think they were more worried about the bad press, though. Senator's daughter and all." She saw the confusion on his face, and realized that she must have been speaking nearly a foreign language to him. Between Thor and Steve Rogers, she wondered if anyone today understood what she said.

"What is this senator you have been speaking of?"

"You don't have them on Asgard?" she asked. "Well, they're part of the government here on Earth. Well, in the United States, at least."

"A ruler?" he asked.

"Yes, sort of."

"Then we have something in common," Thor said. "My father Odin is King of Asgard."

Clara chuckled. "Well, my dad's not exactly a king, but I think he'd like to be. He tries to be in his own house, at least. That's partly why I had to leave. Politics was never my thing." She was startled to see Thor frown, a shadow cast over his brilliant blue eyes.

"Then your father sounds more like my brother," he said gloomily.

"Really?" she asked. "What did your brother do that was so bad?"

He turned and held out one arm, hand open, in a gesture that drew her gaze to the outside and the destruction littering the city streets.

"All that you see here," Thor said, "is his doing. He is the one who sought to rule the Earth and sent the Chitauri here to fight his battles for him. And all this because of an imagined slight from childhood. It is my duty now to bring him home and see that he receives justice."

Clara felt the blood rush from her face in shock as she listened to what Thor told her. It was unbelievable that this man—or whatever he was—who had fought a hero's battle to protect the earth, had done so against his own brother. It was equally unbelievable that such a hero had a sibling capable of that much wickedness.

"I only hope my father will have mercy in the end. Loki's mind is unbalanced, but I believe his heart may yet be spared."

_How can someone capable of this destruction have any heart at all?_ Clara asked herself, though she knew better than to say it out loud. She and her parents had criticized her sister well enough for her deeds, but she would have busted the heads of anyone outside of the family who dared to speak against her. She had a feeling that Thor might be the same way about his brother, and she was not willing to risk having _her _head busted—not by those hands.

"Well…" Clara said. "I'm sorry to see you go. I'm sure the Earth could stand to have you around for a little bit longer. Everyone needs a good hero, right?" She smiled—winningly, she hoped.

Thor smiled back, and it almost knocked her off her feet.

"In spite of the fighting, in spite of the destruction I must leave behind," Thor said, "I have rather enjoyed this hour. I wish that we could have met in times of peace, Clara McKenna." He reached out his hand, and she gave him hers, thinking he would shake it as the others had done. Instead, he lifted it to his lips and kissed it lightly. She somehow felt butterflies in her stomach _and_ all the way up her arm. When he released her, he bent down to pick up the enormous hammer that had been resting on the floor by his chair. He turned to go, not outside, but further into the restaurant.

In an instant, she had an idea. It was crazy. Absolute madness. She was not usually the impulsive type—though she had her moments—but today she felt she had to take this chance.

"Wait!" Clara said. Thor stopped and turned toward her. "Are you going to Asgard now…tonight?"

"I am," he said. "I will fetch my brother, and the Tesseract will take us home."

"Take me with you," she said.

Astonishment flashed across his face, quickly replaced by a furrowed brow as he frowned.

"You do not know what you ask," he said.

"I don't," she said. "But unless you think it would be the worst thing in the world, don't tell me no."

He paused, looking her over, and Clara felt more self-conscious than she had that entire day. Suddenly she realized how absurd her request was. Aside from the fact that she did not know him before an hour ago, and that she was essentially asking to be taken to another planet, she was also wearing dirty jeans, combat boots, and an old T-shirt. Her auburn hair was up in a ponytail, her makeup minimal at best. She was in no condition to travel anywhere with a celebrity, a hero—much less the son of a king—but she did not take back her request. If he was not planning to come back to Earth soon, this was her only chance, appearance be damned.

He came toward her then, his face serious. Clara stood her ground, but felt her knees tremble a little and her pulse quicken.

"If you want to come with me," he said, "you must do exactly as I say, and I will keep you out of danger. I will bring you home to Earth when you wish, but with the Bifrost gone, there is a chance that our magic will not work, and you will not be able to return."

Even without knowing what the Bifrost was, Clara felt how serious and terrible this warning was. But this, she knew, was also a one-time-only chance. Maybe it was insane to think he was telling the truth about Asgard, but after everything she had witnessed today, she was willing to believe almost anything. And she couldn't back down now.

She nodded. Something in Thor's expression changed—softened—and she dared to hope that maybe he was pleased she was coming with him. Silly of her, of course…

"Then wait here. I must fetch my brother so we can retrieve the Tesseract and return to Asgard. Do not speak to him, and if you can, show him no fear. Stay beside me."

This was starting to sound like an increasingly terrible idea, but Clara only said, "All right." Thor disappeared into the back room of the restaurant—a strange place, she thought, to conceal such a dangerous criminal. She looked around, just then realizing that the employees seemed to have vanished. With a shrug, she began to pack up her things into her camera bag.

_What am I doing? _she suddenly thought. _This is insane. "Take me with you"? That's what you ask of a guy supposedly from Asgard, wherever that is? Even if he is one of the Avengers. And all I've got is my camera and the clothes on my back. I don't have any money, or my cell phone…or even a toothbrush. Would I even get reception? Do they have toothbrushes on Asgard?_

She heard footsteps, tearing her back from her frantic train of thought. Looking up, she saw Thor coming toward her with another man, and the very room seemed to freeze.

_This is Thor's brother? _The news media had caught a few seconds of footage, but it had not conveyed him well at all, or his dreadful presence. His mouth was covered by some kind of muzzle or gag that somehow reminded her of Hannibal Lecter. His hands were bound by a set of elaborate cuffs, made of a material she did not recognize. These restraints, however, only made him more terrifying. She shivered at the sight of him, every muscle tensed and waiting to flee, no matter what protection Thor had promised.

While Thor was blonde, bearded, and muscular, his brother Loki was a complete opposite—slender, with hollowed, clean-shaven cheeks, and long black hair. His face was covered in cuts and bruises; Clara wondered which of the Avengers had gotten to him. Even his clothing was a contrast to Thor's—a long black coat of some kind, trimmed with green cloth and brass-colored metal.

_Guess nobody dresses practically on Asgard,_ Clara thought irrelevantly.

As they came forward, she unwittingly looked into Loki's face. Those two green eyes were filled with enough utter contempt and savagery that, had he not been gagged, any words would have been unnecessary anyway. She knew Thor had warned her not to show fear, but she was pretty sure she looked petrified nonetheless.

Finally she broke her stare to look at Thor. He jerked his head toward the exit, motioning her to follow them. Slinging her camera bag across her shoulder, she followed, trying to stay as close to Thor as she could while keeping as far away from Loki as possible. Finally Thor stopped walking and stood with Loki in the middle of the devastated street.

"Hold on to me," he told Clara, never loosening his hold on Loki with one hand and the hammer with his other. "As tightly as you can—lest you fall."

She did as he said, thinking how delightful the idea was only five minutes ago. Now the second, third, and fourth thoughts were flooding her mind. _Too late, _she told herself. _Much too late_.

Once she had a firm grasp on his armor, he began to swing the hammer like a lasso, and a split-second before it happened, she realized what they were about to do. She clenched her eyes shut and felt herself being dragged upward. She tightened her grasp, opened one eye, and screamed. They were somehow in the air, flying, and Manhattan was shrinking below them. Closing both eyes again, she pressed her face against Thor and willed her stomach not to empty itself. Before long, however, she felt a descent, and in a moment they had landed…at the edge of Central Park.

Her feet finally on the ground, she staggered back a few paces before recovering from the brief but harrowing flight. When she looked around, she felt another wave of self-consciousness: each of the Avengers were there as well, waiting for them.


	2. Walking in the Air

**A/N: Hey all, thanks for the great feedback so far! Keep it coming—I'm always happy to get constructive criticism as well as compliments. ;-) Just to make something clear that I hadn't already done: For the sake of this fic, there is no Jane. Lest you think that Thor is some kind of d-bag for apparently forgetting her, I'm here to tell you that Jane is just not in the picture. Apologies if that's heartbreaking, but hey, it's a Thor/OC fic, and this is purely a for-fun, "what if?" scenario—and after all, aren't fun "what ifs" what fanfic is all about?**

* * *

Clara detached herself from Thor, again feeling embarrassed in the presence of the other Avengers. It didn't help that they were standing in a semicircle around them, making her feel as though she was about to be interrogated or put on trial. Or that she was just generally in trouble.

"Thor, what is she doing here?" Steve Rogers asked. "We need to protect people, not put civilians in danger."

"She has made a request to come to Asgard," Thor said.

"Uh, no, bad idea," Tony Stark said. "Thor, buddy, I don't know if she threatened you with Midgardian magic or something, but that thing is just a camera. She can't do anything to you if you tell her no."

"I didn't _threaten_ him," Clara said. If the circumstances were less serious, she would have laughed at the very idea of trying to threaten Thor. "I just asked."

"Miss McKenna," Rogers said, "do you realize this man's identity?" He pointed to Loki, who could still do nothing but glare at him with contempt.

"Yes," Clara said, trying to keep her voice steady and the fear out of her face. "I know he's the mastermind responsible for this attack. But if this is my only chance to see a place like Asgard, and Thor says he can protect me, I want to go for it." She left it at that, figuring that she didn't need to explain also what an incredible opportunity this was for any photojournalist—especially an aspiring one.

"Fury isn't gonna be happy to hear this," Agent Romanoff said. "I think it's better if you stay behind. S.H.I.E.L.D. can't protect you there—"

"Agent Romanoff, I don't know what this S.H.I.E.L.D. is supposed to be doing, but _this_ is a decision I'm making for myself. I have that right. Come on, Captain America knows what I mean, yes?"

Rogers looked nervous when she appealed to him for a defense. "Ma'am, I don't know if you have a constitutional right to go to another planet with a known war criminal."

"Seriously?" Clara grumbled.

"This woman will be under my protection for as long as she is in Asgard," Thor said. "She will not be harmed."

"I can't believe you're going along with this!" Rogers said.

Clara saw Thor give him an urgent, almost pleading look. "I have my reasons," he said.

"Yeah, two guesses," Stark said. "Look, Princess Clara, I don't know what kind of _Romeo and Juliet_ thing you think is going on here, but it ain't happening. I thought you were a smart cookie 'til you decided to skip town with James and the Giant Peach. This is a huge mistake."

"Mr. Stark," Clara said, placing a hand over her chest as though making a pledge, "like the rest of planet Earth, I am beyond grateful for what the Avengers did today. But you're not responsible for me as an individual. This is about my personal decisions, and I'd like you to respect that."

"Stark, you're arguing with a politician's daughter," Dr. Banner said, grinning, even as he appeared no less nervous than the others.

Tony narrowed his eyes at Dr. Banner for a moment, then turned to Clara. "Fine. Fine!" he said. "We wash our hands of you, lady. Don't come crying to the Avengers when you're stuck in Thor's castle and you can't get home."

"Well, if I can't get home, I couldn't come crying to you anyway, could I?" she asked. She tried not to smirk, but finally couldn't help it. Tony raised a finger and pointed it at her.

"Hey. Don't snark at me, sister."

"Enough of this," Thor said. "The decision has been made. Where is the Tesseract?"

"Here." Dr. Banner opened a large silver suitcase and extracted a cylindrical glass container with two golden, elaborately carved handles at each end. The cube encased inside it glowed an electric, unnatural blue. Clara nervously took a step closer to Thor when she saw it.

He looked down at her. "This will take us to Asgard," he said. "I will need you to hold on to me again while we travel."

Nodding, Clara hooked her fingers around part of his breastplate, but then felt him move away from her slightly.

"Not yet," he said.

She let go again and tilted her face up toward him. He was smiling—was he laughing at her? She pursed her lips to keep from having a chuckle of her own, but she almost couldn't resist. A little laughter would help the tense atmosphere, but it was far from appropriate.

Thor took the container from Dr. Banner, seizing it by one of the handles. His expression solemn once again, he held it out to Loki, who took the other end. Clara couldn't help looking at him again; she was not entirely sure, but she thought she saw sorrow and fear in Loki's eyes—no longer the pure loathing they had been emanating until now.

Clara glanced up at Thor again. When he gave her a solemn nod of affirmation, she grasped his armor. His right arm, holding the massive hammer, folded around her. Her palms were sweating and she almost couldn't breathe at all. She would have liked to think it was simply the feel of pressing her body against his, but she knew it was really a growing awareness of what she was about to do. Clinging tightly to Thor, she took another look around at the Avengers, almost hoping that they would make one final effort to stop her. If someone said something now, told her not to go, she might actually give in this time.

Finally, she caught Dr. Banner's gaze, but she couldn't read much in his dark, sad eyes. His expression shifted, as though he would speak. She held her breath and watched him expectantly.

"Good luck, Miss McKenna," he said.

He barely finished his words before Thor turned the handle of the glowing container, and they were bathed in a harsh blue light that seemed to come straight from the heavens. Clara felt her body dragged along with his, shooting upward into the sky.

She closed her eyes tightly again and pressed her face into him, bracing against the speed and a strange emptiness around them. Bright light burned against her eyelids, and then she felt…nothing. Nothing around her, nothing within her. Her hands were still grasping, but at nothing.

Panic rose in her chest, but she did not even have time to decide to open her eyes before the light was suddenly gone, and with it the hollow sensation inside of her. Blackness now enveloped her, and even half a second after that, she heard a rushing wind in her ears, and then the bottoms of her shoes slammed into a hard surface. She relaxed her fingers, let go, and fell sideways onto what felt like a cold, marble floor. When she finally managed to open her eyes, she realized that was exactly what she was lying on.


	3. Above the Universe

**A/N: I'm getting increasingly nervous about posting chapters, even though I worked my butt off on this one. Hope you guys like it, otherwise _I just may__ cry_. Or try to take over Earth. Something desperate.**

* * *

Clara was still on the floor when she heard shouts and several sets of heavy footsteps rushing toward her. She rolled over to push herself off the ground, but found that she was still attached to her camera bag. After throwing the strap over her head, she left it there and struggled to get up. Suddenly she felt a pair of hands on her sides, lifting her back to her feet. Upright once again, she staggered a little before steadying herself. When she saw that was Thor she was braced against, she flinched away sheepishly.

The three of them were standing in a long chamber. Without the blue glow from the Tesseract, now on the floor in its cylinder, the dim room would have been even darker. As it was, she could not see much detail. The light glinted off of Thor's armor, but gave his handsome face an eery quality. Likewise, when cast on Loki, it harshened his features and made the gag and chains even more menacing. He looked directly at her again, and she visibly shuddered.

Out of the darkness four men hurried toward them, almost as enormous as Thor and wearing similar armor, as well as helmets. Each man brandished a different, exotic-looking weapon. Clara felt a flash of terror, briefly wondering if Thor had brought her into a trap, if these men were here to arrest her and haul her away.

Instead, they stopped in front of the newcomers to offer Thor a bow and salute each before surrounding Loki.

"Our Prince, Mighty Thor," one man said, his voice gravely, "we are pleased to see you have returned safely to Asgard, and that you have been triumphant in your goal."

"I thank you, Rodmar," Thor said. He gestured toward Loki. "Secure him in the palace, and keep him under guard until I have the chance to speak to Odin and we decide what else is to be done."

The four warriors repeated their salutes and escorted their prisoner away. Thor turned to Clara.

"You weathered the journey well," he said. "I hope it was not too uncomfortable."

"That _was_ a strange trip," Clara said, looking nervously around the room, "but at least it was quick."

"I must show the Tesseract to my father, the king, before it is returned to its rightful place, and under heavier protection." He bent down and gingerly picked up the Tesseract with one hand and his hammer with the other. "He will also be interested in meeting our Midgardian guest. Come with me."

Clara hesitated. She had met a few dignitaries and other VIPs in her day, but Odin, King of Asgard, a mythical—but apparently very living—legend, was someone of much greater significance than she was used to.

"Right now?" she asked.

"We shall have many things to discuss, your visit being one of them," he said.

Clara saw that Thor was ready to leave this room, but she could not seem to move to follow him. For all his beauty and apparently kind nature, Thor was still intimidating, and Loki already scared her to death. The idea of coming face-to-face with Odin was too much to take in, on top of everything that had already happened today. In all the activity of the last few hours, she had felt compelled to press on, to keep herself from thinking too long about what she was doing. Now, the enormity of what happened began to crash in on her mind.

She really hadn't thought this through very well.

For a moment, she wondered why Thor even let her come with him, but then remembered his insistence to Steve Rogers that he had his "reasons." Why had she not stopped to wonder what those reasons might be? She could not begin to imagine, and yet, unbidden, her brain began to try.

"Oh my god," she said. She swallowed and took a step back from Thor, almost tripping over the camera bag still on the ground. She took a few shuddering breaths, then covered her face with her hands. "Oohhh, my god."

"Clara McKenna, are you all right?" she heard Thor ask.

She couldn't talk; she could only shake her head. She heard scraping sounds and uncovered her eyes. Thor had set down the Tesseract and the hammer and was coming toward her. She looked up at him with frantic eyes peering out of a bloodless face. Somehow she finally managed to speak around her gasps.

"What the hell have I done?" Her hands formed into fists, pressed against her cheeks. "Oh fu…wh-what am I doing here? This is insane." _Yes, and also too late, she thought._

"Clara, please be calm," Thor said, placing his enormous hands on her shoulders. "This is a strange world for you, I know. I felt this way once on Earth. You will be all right."

"Why did I ask to come?" She looked up at him, then dropped her hands from her face. "Why did you _agree?"_

"You were willing," he said. "But also, I think you can help us here."

"What…are you going…to do to me," she said slowly, her voice flat.

"I will not _do_ anything to you," Thor said. "I promised that I would keep you from danger. I would make a request, but we may discuss that later, when other matters have been attended to. While you are here, you will be an honored guest. You have my word, you have nothing to fear."

Clara stood there, still breathing heavier than normal, trying to calm herself down. Thor watched her, patient but anxious.

Finally she closed her eyes and took several slow, deep breaths. She opened her eyes again, looked at Thor, and nodded. She bent to pick up her bag, adjusting the strap across her shoulder with trembling hands. Thanks to her own decisions, she could not exactly hop on a bus to get back home. She was stuck here for now, and she'd have to deal with whatever else came her way. Trusting Thor was her only option for the moment.

Thor returned her nod, then once more took up the hammer and the Tesseract.

"Follow me," he said.

She clutched her bag and walked close beside him as they took the same route by which the guards had removed Loki. Soon she was out of breath from having to keep up with Thor's longer strides.

Eventually they came to a set of stairs, a glow from above hinting at an end to the shadows. After several minutes of climbing, they reached the top landing, flooded with light from a massive slanted window. Clara blinked and shielded her eyes with her hand. Thor stopped, then closed his eyes and sighed, looking relieved. She peeked sideways at him from behind her hand.

_He must be glad to be home_, she thought.

Sensing her looking at him, he turned to her and smiled, the first smile she had seen him make since they left Earth.

"Would you like to see Asgard?" he asked, tilting his head toward the window.

Lowering her hand from her forehead, she stepped up to the glass. She looked outward, taking in a crystal blue sky and wispy clouds. _Lovely_, she thought. When she looked down, she gasped.

They were standing within a structure that jutted out of the craggy side of a mountain, part of a range that stretched into the distance, beyond her sight. Below her feet, past the clouds they towered over, she saw treacherous cliffs dotted with lush foliage and cascading waterfalls. Glistening rivers gathered into pools and snaked around groups of buildings that shimmered gold and silver. Other structures had been built into the mountains, connected to each other by elaborate bridges. Some places seemed to have been carved out of the peaks themselves, such that she could not tell where the mountain ended and the building began. Clara craned her neck to the left and saw part of a golden palace. Even from where she stood, she could not see its highest towers before they vanished behind more clouds.

She looked back down, transfixed by the cataracts and the rainbows they threw to each other. She leaned forward as far as she could, her forehead pressed against the cool glass, drinking in the sight, desperate to fix every detail into her mind. Something ached inside her at the sight of this glorious place. Nothing, nothing she had ever seen before could compare to the view in that moment.

Clara could have stood there for hours, but all too soon she felt a hand on her shoulder. Tearing her eyes from the clouds and mountains and rivers, she looked up into Thor's face. He was not smiling anymore, but she thought she could see understanding there.

"Come now," he said softly. "There is much more for you to see."

He was not lying. They climbed another set of stairs and emerged in the open air at the top of a cliff. This time Thor did not let her have time to look around. She paused once, but then practically had to run to catch up with him before he stepped onto a wide covered bridge, its high roof held up by a row of golden statues along each side.

Clara kept stopping to take in the view, almost walking in circles before she would see how far ahead of her Thor was. She would hurry to join him at his side, but then it would be only a few seconds before something else caught her attention. The new environment overwhelmed her senses, making her completely forget to use her camera, even as the bag's weight still pulled at her shoulder. She thought about holding the edge of Thor's cape to keep herself from straying too far, but the idea was too childish. And yet she did feel like she had entered a second childhood—seeing a new world, where everything was beautiful and anything was possible. Her earlier panic had melted away with the first sight of Asgard, replaced with an eagerness, a greed to see more.

On the other side of the golden bridge was the towering palace, its entrance flanked by guards in armor similar to the men who had taken Loki away. Clara was careful to stay beside Thor, whose presence and identity compelled the guards to salute him and allow him passage without a word. She glanced at a few of their faces, but most of them ignored her. One, however, caught her eye; he looked younger than the others, perhaps new on the force. She saw a flash of amusement across the part of his face that his helmet did not conceal. Clara smiled at him.

The circular foyer just inside the palace was cool and dim. Varicolored marble formed a dizzying geometric pattern on the floor. In front of them was a gold and emerald staircase that swept up in a broad spiral. Like the high towers outside, Clara could not see its top.

"You really have a thing for gold here, don't you?" she murmured.

Before Thor could answer, they heard several pairs of heels clattering against the floor. Two young women and a middle-aged man hurried toward them, all wearing joyful smiles. As they came closer, Clara saw that all of them, like everyone else on Asgard, were taller than she. They stopped a respectful distance from Thor and bowed, casting a momentary series of uncertain glances at the Tesseract.

"Good Prince," the man said, "we are thrilled to see you home again."

The two women alternately smiled at Thor and looked at Clara with restrained interest. She looked back at them with less subtle curiosity. They were obviously sisters: tall and slight, both with dark braided hair and wide, brown eyes. One was a little taller, with a strong, almost masculine jawline and prominent cheekbones. The other had a softer face and more delicate features, but carried herself with an air of strength.

"And I am pleased to see you and your daughters looking well, Varin," Thor said. Just as Clara was wondering if he had forgotten her, he inclined his head in her direction.

"This is Clara McKenna, of Midgardian royalty. She is to be our guest in Asgard, and I trust you will see that she is well taken care of."

"Of course, Your Highness," the taller sister said with a curtsey.

Clara was not sure whether to be entertained or worried when she heard Thor refer to her as royalty. She would have to explain to him a little better what a senator's role was, and that it had no bearing on her own status—especially here.

"As for now, I must speak with the king," Thor said. "I have only just returned."

"The Allfather is in the throne room, Your Highness," Varin said. "Permit us to escort you both."

Inside, away from the sun and the glories it shone upon, Clara's former anxiety began to reemerge. With every step, she felt more and more on edge, knowing that she would soon be standing before Odin as his uninvited guest. Despite her fears, she still tried to keep up with Thor.

They turned a corner and entered another wide corridor with shining floors and a vaulted ceiling. As they walked, almost deafened by their echoing footsteps, Clara realized that what she thought was a wall of mirrors was actually pale gold, so smooth and polished that it seemed like glass. She thought of the fancy carved wood doors and sparkling marble memorials she always saw when visiting her father's office in Washington, D.C., and for a moment wondered what he would think of her current surroundings. Even the richest man in Abu Dhabi would have a coronary at the sight of Odin's palace.

They finally stopped in front of a towering set of closed doors. Varin and his daughters hung back as Thor stepped up to the doors. When Clara inched forward beside him, Thor looked down at her and frowned.

"You are not well," he said.

Clara cleared her throat, annoyed that her face had been betraying her apprehension. She was scared, yes, but she had gotten herself into this. She couldn't punk out now.

"I'm fine," she said, but her voice came out too squeaky. Suddenly she had a mental image of the Queen of Hearts from _Alice in Wonderland_, and pictured Odin barking orders to have her head cut off.

"Your face has turned green."

"I'll be okay," she said.

He did not open the doors, or move at all. Clara stared straight ahead, willing herself not to be sick.

Thor turned to face her directly. "My father will be preoccupied with the news of Loki, and greatly displeased by it. Perhaps now is not the best time for him to meet our new visitor, as well." He looked back over his shoulder at the attendants. "Herdis, please take Clara McKenna to one of the guest chambers, and see that she has everything she needs."

"Wait, what?" Clara asked. She turned around as the shorter of the two women took a step toward her.

"I have matters to address with the king, madam," Thor said. "If you will make yourself comfortable in your quarters, I will come and fetch you before long."

Clara would have been relieved to postpone her meeting with Odin if it did not mean separating from the only person in Asgard she knew and trusted to any degree. But Thor looked serious, and she knew that even if she made a fuss, Herdis was unlikely to disobey her prince.

"If you will come with me, my lady," Herdis said with a low, comforting voice, "you may rest and refresh yourself for a bit. You must have had a tiring journey."

_You don't know the half of it, lady_, Clara thought.

"Um…Okay, then," she finally said. As she allowed the young maid to show her the way, she paused for one last look back at Thor. But he had already turned back to the doors and was just pushing them open when Herdis led her around another corner, blocking him from sight.

Herdis did not walk as quickly as Thor, nor with such a strong stride. She walked purposefully, but slow enough that Clara stayed beside her easily and anticipated her direction when they had to turn corners. She even stopped to wait whenever Clara paused to gape at a work of art or a particularly impressive architectural element. Clara tried not to stare at the people they passed—most them some type of guard or servant—but a few times she could not resist. Some of them looked back at her openly, themselves curious about the stranger in their midst.

As she followed the young woman through the palace, Clara wondered what the protocol was for addressing the staff in Asgard. Thor had seemed genial enough with them, though there did not appear to be much familiarity between the royal family and their attendants. It couldn't hurt to try to make conversation, at least, especially if it was going to be a long walk to the guest room.

"So, Herdis…What do you usually do around here? For your job, I mean."

Herdis looked at Clara, confused. As they kept walking, she said, "I serve our royal family of Asgard, my lady. As my father and mother have done."

"Do you do the cleaning around here?" Clara asked. "Because I have to say, whoever polishes the floors is doing a fantastic job. And the windows have no streaks _at all._ I might have gotten some fingerprints on one of them when we first got here, though."

Herdis smiled vaguely; Clara was reminded of Steve Rogers when she was talking about blogging.

"I do not clean," she answered, "but I personally attend their majesties, and important guests such as yourself, my lady."

"Okay, I need to clear something up here," Clara said. "You don't need to use any of that 'my lady' stuff with me. Trust me, I don't care—I'm not that important anyway."

"But the prince said that you are royalty, my lady," Herdis said.

"Well, he's kind of mistaken. I'll explain it to him later. But trust me when I say I don't mind if you just call me Clara. If you want to be formal, you can say Miss McKenna, but Clara is fine."

The poor maid appeared bothered by this request. "I wouldn't want their majesties to think I am being disrespectful of their guest."

Clara sighed, annoyed and a little pitying, even as she recognized that Herdis was excellent at her job.

"Well, fine, you can call me 'my lady' if you absolutely must. How about you call me Clara when 'their majesties' aren't around?"

She hesitated, then finally said, "I shall try to do as you ask, my…that is, Clara."

"Thank you," Clara said, trying to deploy her most disarming smile to show no hard feelings. The good thing about this conversation was that, much like taking in the view of Asgard, it had worn down her concerns to practically nothing. She still was nervous about her eventual meeting with Odin, and doubtless might have another freak-out before it happened, but unless Herdis was a ridiculously brilliant actress, it was obvious that no one in the palace was plotting her death.

Well, one person here might be…

_Best not to think of him now,_ Clara told herself.

She had lost track of the number of corners they had turned, doorways they had passed, and stairs they had climbed or descended. She wondered if Herdis was just screwing with her at this point. But finally, after crossing through a dome-ceilinged room that looked like a conservatory, they reached an ornately carved wood door with a brass handle.

"These will be your quarters during your stay, m—Clara," Herdis said as she opened the door.

After all she had seen of the palace so far, Clara was expecting another room of dark marble and gold. Astonished, she followed the maid into a sort of sitting room—painted light blue, with a large, open window on the opposite wall that looked out over the mountains. Yes, there were still golden tables and throne-like chairs, but unlike the others she had seen, these were of simpler styles—some of them even looked comfortable. One sofa was covered with pillows that made her fingers itch to touch.

On both sides of the room were doorways with pale, gauzy curtains instead of doors, gently fluttering in the breeze. The windows let in air that carried a series of earthy smells she could not identify, though she detected mountain water and something slightly floral. Stepping inside, she felt the floor beneath her boots give way a little, and realized a thick, cream-colored carpet covered all but the furthest edges of the floor. She looked back up and crossed to the window, leaning out of it to get a better look.

If possible, the view here was even more stunning than her first view of Asgard. Between the mountains, she saw the streams and rivers join together in the distance to create falls that seemed to tumble off the edge of the world. Even though the room was high up in the palace, she was sure she could hear the distant roar of the waterfalls. She drew back into the room and slowly turned in place to take everything in.

"I have always thought this set of rooms best for troubled minds and weary hearts," Herdis said. "As you are far from home, in a strange land, it seemed to suit."

Clara finally stopped turning in circles to look directly at Herdis. Yes, this woman was _very _good at her job.

"I think it's perfect," Clara said. "Thank you so much."

"The bedchamber is through there," Herdis said, pointing to the curtained doorway on the left, "if you would like to rest for a while. Perhaps some refreshment?"

Offered rest and food, Clara could not decide which she wanted more. She had not had the chance to eat at the shawarma restaurant back in New York, but in the excitement of reaching Asgard, she had ceased to consider her hunger. The suggestion of food brought back her appetite. Then she remembered that it was only hours ago that she had first laid eyes on the Avengers, and hours before that when Loki had launched his invasion. Was this all the same day? Did time progress differently on Asgard? She already felt as though she had lived through five other lifetimes since she woke up in her apartment that morning.

"I'd like both," she said to Herdis. The woman smiled and nodded.

"If you will make yourself comfortable, Clara, I shall return soon."

Clara tensed as she watched Herdis close the door behind her and listened for the click of a key. But after waiting for a few seconds, she went to the door and opened it easily. She peeked out into the corridor; she could not see Herdis, but heard her fading footsteps. Well, then. It seemed she was an honored guest after all, and not about to be made prisoner.

Alone for the first time in hours, Clara put her camera bag down beside a low table and knelt to unlace her boots. The feeling of relief when she stepped out of them made her wish she had a complete change of clothes, but there was nothing to be done about that now. Perhaps she would ask Herdis about it when she came back; somewhere in this palace there had to be an extra _something _that she could put on.

She parted the curtains to the next room and peeked inside. The bedroom was much like the first room: the same colored walls, the rug's twin, and a similar window. An enormous four-poster bed stood against the furthest wall, elaborately carved out of glossy wood and hung with pale curtains like those that separated the rooms. Clara noticed a matching wardrobe and walked over to it, unaware that she was starting to smirk. Her smile fell when she opened its doors and saw only empty space.

"Guess you can't get to Narnia from here," she said to herself.

She turned around and looked at the bed, knowing she could not resist it for much longer. Up close, she saw the covers were embroidered with lush blue and silver thread. Glancing around, almost afraid she would be scolded, she pulled aside the curtains and stretched out across the mattress, face down. Her very muscles seemed to sigh with relief. Clara almost dozed off, but revived long enough to turn herself ninety degrees and sink her head properly into the pillows.

She was asleep in moments, and never heard Herdis return.


	4. Safely Tucked Away

**A/N: This chapter ... this was fun to write. One bit in particular.**

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Clara awoke to darkness with a flinch and a moment of terror, forgetting where she was. She sat up in bed, listening. She was not in her apartment—she could not hear the city traffic, neither could she smell the regrettably familiar odor of her roommate's favorite curry dish. She was in Asgard, and she was not dreaming.

Clara lay on the bed for nearly an hour before she realized she was not going to get back to sleep. Sighing, she parted the bed's gauzy curtains and climbed out. Thicker curtains had been drawn across the bedroom window, but as her eyes adjusted, she saw a faint light through the doorway.

A few sconces burned in the sitting room, offering pockets of light, and the window there was still open. Clara leaned out; she could just hear the waterfalls, but could not make out the mountain peaks in the darkness. The lack of sounds from cars and drunken pedestrians was eerie. She looked up and saw a multitude of twinkling lights against the night sky. Living so long in New York, Clara could not remember the last time she had seen real stars. It was like the metropolis upside down, with empty darkness below and a vast array of lights above.

She turned away from the window to grope along the floor for her bag. She carefully extracted her beloved Nikon and felt for the power button. With a click and a whirring, the camera turned on, the illumination from the LCD screen stinging Clara's eyes.

"Bless you for working," she whispered.

When a glint caught her eye, she noticeda silver tray placed on the table. There was a pitcher of some liquid, an empty goblet, and several covered dishes. She smiled, grateful for Herdis' kindness, and lifted the lids. There was bread with several different kinds of spreads, a bowl of fruit, cold meats, and a plate of greens that must have been Asgard's version of a salad.

Clara tasted a little of everything, but only the bread and the greens were still appetizing at room temperature. She wiped her hands on her jeans and sat back to think for a moment. The food had only made her more alert, and if she was going to sit here alone until morning, she would lose her mind.

Some would argue that she had already lost it.

Clara went down on her hands and knees to find her boots and put them on. She stood and grabbed her camera, hanging it around her neck by its strap. If the rest of the palace was this dark, she couldn't expect many good shots without her tripod, but there was always hope. Taking a deep breath, she summoned her nerve and approached the door.

Out in the corridor, more sconces provided light for her path. The silence pressed against her ears as she stepped out of the room and began walking in a random direction.

_I won't go far, _she promised herself. _I just want to look around here for a bit. Okay, remember this turn, then that one, _she thought as she went left around a corner.

She tried to take a few pictures, but the camera's clicks and buzzes were loud in the echoing rooms, and the flash jarred her nerves and did not help the shots. Disappointed, she thought it best to wait for daylight for more photos. Still, she was wide awake, and not ready to backtrack to her room. She explored confidently, recognizing the rooms Herdis had taken her through. She even went so far as to venture up a staircase. But after a few more turns she entered a dark room the size of a cathedral, one that she knew she had not yet seen.

Just as she turned to leave the room, the doorway before her slid closed. She pressed her hand to try to slide it back, but it would not budge. Across the room, she heard a rumble that sounded like another door closing—or opening. Trying to stay calm, she walked quietly toward the other side, hoping for a way out. Halfway across the room, however, the floor shifted beneath her. She stopped with a stumble, and realized that it was slowly rotating. She held her breath and waited, every muscle straining in expectation of flight, while she pictured herself as the victim in an Edgar Allan Poe story.

When the room stopped moving, another door opened in front of her. She darted through it, not caring where it went, not wanting to stay behind in that room. She looked behind her resentfully as the door closed behind her and she heard another rumble. A magical security feature, maybe?

She leaned against the wall to steady her quaking knees, and realized that she was standing on a landing above a set of spiraling stairs. These _might _be the ones she wanted.

The steps kept going without a stop, until she was sure she had gone too many floors down. Just as she was feeling claustrophobic, she found another landing with an archway. She began to hurry down a wide passage, hoping it would lead to the conservatory-like room, and from there to her chambers.

_Nothing's jumping out at me—it's just dark. That's all that's scary about it. Just the dark. And … a magical spinning room. If worst comes to worst, I can just sit and wait until I see someone I can ask._

After all, it worked when she was eight years old and had gotten separated from her family in the U.S. Capitol. As Senator McKenna's daughter, she'd stirred up the appropriate amount of concern for her welfare and safe return. As the guest of Thor, she could hardly expect anything less. Despite her fears and moments of near-panic, everything in Asgard had been going fairly well…up until this point.

Finally, she stopped walking. This was not the right corridor, but what lay behind her was nearly as confusing and unknown as what lay beyond. The air, cooler here, prickled her skin. With a sigh, she pressed on. She passed the entrance to another hallway, perpendicular to her current route, and a distant glow caught her attention. She paused to look toward it, certain that it was not the path she wanted, but too curious to walk away.

_I'm lost,_ she thought. _I am hopelessly lost, and I have made a complete idiot of myself. I might as well make the most of it._

She kept one hand on her camera. She would hate to break it, but she figured she could at least _try _to bludgeon someone with it if she were attacked.

Her heart leaped in her throat at the sight of a large, dark shape upon the floor. Pulse racing, she stopped, bending over to get a better look. By the light of the few torches that burned from the walls, she saw the vague outline of a man's face, partially concealed by a helmet. A guard? She straightened, hesitant and terrified. Had someone killed a guard here?

She almost shrieked when the man grunted and snorted, then was quiet again. He was asleep.

_That's worth some kind of disciplinary action, at least, _she thought, stepping past him, her relief transforming into disgust at such incompetency. _If he's lazy enough to sleep on the job, he probably won't freak out and try to stab me if I wake him up to ask for directions later._

Clara took quieter steps toward the faint light. It was pale and colorless, so she did not expect to find the Tesseract. She also did not expect what she _did _find there.

The light came from a thin barrier, as clear as water but as strong and solid as diamond, set between the corridor and a large, cell-like room. It provided just enough light for her to see inside, and to realize what the guard was supposed to be watching over.

There was Loki, head down, sitting on a hard bench pushed against the farthest wall.

Terror kept her feet frozen to the floor, even as her brain sent out adrenaline that screamed for her to run. _Just go, _she told herself. _Get out of here._

She shifted, prepared to flee, but he raised his head and looked directly into her face. Clara felt cold all over. His gag had been removed, but he was wearing a heavier set of shackles around his wrists. Without the muzzle, Clara thought for a moment that his pale, thin features would have been elegant and alluring without the hatred etched in every contour and pore—or the cuts and bruises from earlier. Immediately she was ashamed that she even noticed. This monster tried to destroy her world.

Loki was the one who broke the silence.

"You could not wait until morning to gloat?" he asked. His tone was flat, revealing neither sorrow nor anger. He stood slowly and stepped toward the barrier. "Come closer," he said, his low voice a perfect match to his cold beauty. "If you wish to gawk at the prisoner, you must have a proper view."

"Trust me, I haven't come to see you," Clara said, staying where she was.

Loki smiled, a flash of straight, white teeth taking her by surprise. "Not lost, are you?"

Clara glared at him, suddenly gripped with a desire to add more bruises to that face.

He shook his head slowly, mockingly. "It is not safe to go wandering around the palace in the middle of the night. You never know what you may find."

"Lesson learned," she said. "I'll remember that." She turned and took a few steps back toward where she had come from, but he spoke again, and she paused.

"Obviously you require assistance," he said. She looked back and saw him standing right up against the shimmering, solid curtain that imprisoned him. "Shall I direct you where you wish to go?" He tilted his head down slightly as he whispered, "Thor's chambers, perhaps?"

Clara could hardly keep her expression calm. She swallowed, feeling heat pour into her cheeks. Her lips parted, but in her embarrassment, she had no words for them to speak.

His mouth curved in a sneer as he stepped back from the barrier. "The poor thing looks frightened." He sighed. "My brother really should take better care with his pets. Running loose, someone might try to steal you from him, as he stole you from Midgard."

"He didn't _steal_ me, I asked to come here," Clara said, her throat going dry. "It's not like…that."

"Of course not," Loki purred. "I'm sure Thor had the purest heart and only the most honorable intentions when he agreed to bring such a comely young thing into the palace."

He peered through the curtain, his eyes taking in her every detail. Clara felt sickened by his gaze, but somehow felt determined to stand her ground.

"But you say you _asked_ to come here. Goodness, you made short work of it. Small wonder you could not last through the night without seeking out his bed."

He grinned at her disgusted expression before he began to pace slowly across his cell. Despite her loathing, Clara was mesmerized by his movements, so languid and elegant. She remembered the times she spent at the zoo as a child, watching the tigers and panthers walk back and forth in front of the bars of their cages, as though seeking a means of escape they would never find. Then, as now, she had been fascinated by their savage, dangerous beauty. Unlike with Loki, however, Clara had felt sorry for the captive animals.

She sucked in her breath and blinked, suddenly realizing how intently she had been watching him, losing track of herself. One look at his face, those clever eyes, and she knew that he saw it too.

"Second thoughts?" he asked. "Be careful, madam—he would not want you to get greedy."

"_Enough!_"

She gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth as her shout echoed along the corridor. Grunts and the clinking of armor echoed down the hall, and she knew that she had roused the sleeping guard. A moment later she heard his approaching footsteps. Loki moved back to return to his bench.

"Come away from there!" the guard barked at her.

Clara hurried toward the guard, out of Loki's view. He reached out a hand to stop her from passing him.

"You are not supposed to be here, girl," he said. "No one is to enter this place but palace guards and their majesties."

"Believe me, I didn't intend to find him here," Clara said, shaking him off. Between getting lost, being humiliated by Loki, and now being chastised by Asgard's laziest security guard, her temper was rising. "I was just exploring."

"Exploring?"

"Yes. I don't know if Thor said anything to you about it, but—"

The guard took her by surprise when his eyes widened in fear. "You are Thor's Midgardian guest!"

"Well, yeah," Clara said. _Wow, _she thought. _Just wow. He wouldn't last two seconds in the FBI. Or at the Met, for that matter._

"Forgive me, madam," he said. "I should have known."

"Probably," she said. She narrowed her eyes. "And _probably_ shouldn't have been asleep on duty."

"My lady," he said, terrorized by her implications, "I am ashamed you would find me in such a position. The task fell to me, you see, but I had already—"

"It's fine," Clara said, waving her hand. She hated sycophants; one of the many reasons why she never pursued her own career in politics. "If you can help me get back to my room, I won't say a word about your little nap."

"Of course, my lady," he said. "I do not know where _your _room is, specifically, but—"

She wasn't about to describe it within Loki's hearing. "Just get me out of _here_, then."

"Certainly. I cannot escort you away from my post, but if you will turn left out of this corridor, you will see a white staircase, and that will eventually take you up to the floor where most of the sleeping apartments are."

"It's a start," Clara mumbled. So she had been close to her way out before being distracted. "Thanks."

One hand against the wall to steady herself, she went along on slightly wobbly legs, still shaken from the encounter with Loki. She couldn't begin to understand why she had stayed there for even a minute. This day had been just a series of bad decisions.

Fortunately, she found the staircase, and was halfway up when she heard someone approaching. She almost sat right down on the steps, she was so relieved to see Herdis, her large brown eyes even wider and full of fear.

"My lady!" she gasped, rapidly descending the stairs. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Herdis, thanks," Clara said, smiling. "I'm so glad to see you—how did you know…?"

"You were not in your chamber," Herdis said. "Heimdall sees everything, and he was able to tell me where you were." She lowered her voice. "If you will forgive my impertinence, my lady, you should avoid speaking to Loki in the future. He is all wickedness and deceit and will use anyone for sport. It would not do to risk him affecting your mind, or for him to color your impressions of Asgard."

"Don't worry," Clara said. "I have no intention of speaking to him again. And I think Asgard is wonderful, even if he's here."

"I'm glad," Herdis said, smiling. "And now, my lady, permit me to return you to your accommodations. The sun is rising, and Thor has requested that you join him and the royal family in a morning meal."

"Oh jeeze," Clara said. Herdis looked at her questioningly. "Sorry, it's…fine." She swallowed nervously. "I just have been up for half the night, and in these clothes for 24 hours…I think."

"We shall help you get ready, my lady…Clara."

"We?"

Herdis' sister was waiting in the sitting room when they returned. She bowed to Clara.

"Kadlin has brought you some clothes for after your bath," Herdis said.

"Oh my gosh, yes, please, a bath sounds amazing," Clara said. She didn't care what she wore after, as long as it was clean. "Where is it?"

Kadlin pointed to the curtained doorway to Clara's right. She peeked through it, seeing a dressing room with tall mirrors, an ornate vanity table and stool, and a changing screen embroidered with a pastoral scene.

"Through that door, my lady," Kadlin said, indicating a door on the opposite wall.

Rather than the small bathroom she was expecting, the door opened into a large room with carved stone walls. In the middle of the tile floor was a pool, surrounded by several columns. Built into one wall was a wide cupboard full of jars and bottles of all colors, shapes, and sizes.

"_This _is the _bath?_" Clara asked, her voice bouncing against the tiles. "Wow, it's not olympic-sized, but it'll _do_."

"Indeed," Herdis said, stepping past her toward the cupboards. She took out a bottle, a jar, and a towel.

"I'll…take care of all that," Clara said, holding out her hands. "You don't have to stay here, I won't disappear again."

Herdis smiled and handed the items to Clara. "You may choose other soaps if you prefer, but I thought these would best suit your needs this morning. Kadlin and I shall wait for you."

She closed the door behind her, leaving Clara feeling self-conscious in spite of her solitude. She did not see any other doors, but the room was so broad, and the palace itself still so mysterious, that she found it difficult to believe that there was no way anyone else could spy on her. But she wanted a bath too badly to worry about that for long. She set down the bottles on the edge of the pool and the towel a little further away to keep it dry. Woven of a special Asgardian fabric, it felt like no cloth she knew.

She unlaced her boots, undressed, and lowered herself into the deliciously warm water. She stood flat on her feet, the water up to her shoulders, and waded from one end to the other before returning to inspect the bottles Herdis. She had no idea how they were supposed to be used. She did her best, hoping that she would not emerge from the bath with the hair burned off her head or green skin. Fortunately, all that happened was that she came out smelling much better than before.

She wrapped the towel securely around her body and carried her clothes into the dressing room. She heard the sisters' soft voices wafting from the main room. Four different dresses had been draped over the screen. She grabbed the first one in line and stepped into it. The turquoise-colored, sleeveless frock pooled at her feet. A quick look at the other dresses told her that it would be the same with them, Clara being shorter than most Asgardians. Fortunately, when she asked, the sisters were able to work miracles with pins and quick fingers until the dress looked less awkward.

Kadlin offered to arrange her hair, but Clara tied her damp waves up in a messy bun.

"This is good enough for me," she said. "I'll take some cosmetics, though, if you've got any."

Another few minutes, and Clara regained that feeling of newness, of rebirth, she had felt yesterday. Clean and freshly dressed, even with a new pair of slippers on her feet, she felt prepared for just about anything, despite not having had a full night's sleep. She could almost believe she was the princess everyone else seemed to think she was. Just as she was about to ask the sisters what else was to be done, she jumped at the sound of several hard raps on the door.

"Good morning, Your Highness," Kadlin said, curtseying when she opened the door.

"Good morning, Kadlin," Thor said, his voice filling the room even while standing outside. "Is Clara McKenna ready?"

"I'm here!" she said brightly, stepping around the door. "Good morning, Thor."

His cordial smile gave her a little thrill until she noticed the weariness around his eyes. Something last night had not gone well.

"Good morning, Clara," he said. His gaze flickered from her feet to the top of her head, and she felt flustered, then chagrined. He did not look disappointed, but she wished he would say at least one flattering word. Instead, he shifted to the side and offered her his arm. "The king and queen are expecting your presence at breakfast this morning."

The friendly greeting and her fresh appearance was not enough to keep _all _of her fears at bay, but Clara was as ready as she would ever be. She grabbed her camera from where she left it on the table. Her hand trembled a little when she hooked her arm through the crook in Thor's elbow, but he smiled at her again, and it was more than enough to make up for his lack of a compliment.


	5. Heal the Scars and Change the Stars

**A/N: And here is where the plot REALLY starts to take off. I have to credit reader/reviewer "Forgotten Sorceress" for giving me an idea that I introduce in this chapter and just took and went berserk with. And really, this whole fic came out of an idea that I took and went berserk with. Such fun!**

* * *

In full daylight, the palace was once again glorious and ornate, no longer dark and terrifying. Clara encroached on Thor's patience and stopped numerous times to take photos of every room they passed, and occasionally some of the Asgardians. She wanted one touristy picture of herself, but could not trust Thor with her camera, even if she gave him the most explicit instructions. Those massive hands might be capable of wielding weapons and crushing aliens, but she nearly shuddered at the thought of what might happen to her camera if he so much as pressed a button.

Walking arm-in-arm with him again, however, she thought that he _was _capable of more than brute strength. He had been so polite to her so far—almost solicitous. _He really is a gentleman_, she thought. He caught her looking up at him and give her another faint smile. She grinned back, starting to feel like a teenager at her first prom.

Suddenly, her encounter with Loki came back to mind. Her whole face, followed by the rest of her body, warmed with embarrassment when she remembered what he had implied. _He was just being a jerk, _she told herself, trying to dismiss it. _That's not what you had in mind when you asked to come here. Like Herdis said, don't let him get into your head_. She cast another quick side glance at Thor, wondering if he knew about her getting lost and meeting his brother. If he did, he said nothing about it.

Given what she had seen of Asgard so far, Clara expected to meet the king and queen in a banqueting hall full of their friends, honored guests, servants, guards, and maybe a court jester or two, their entrance announced with drums and trumpets. Instead, Thor led her to an archway flanked by a pair of guards. After passing through, they were in a small, curved room lined with windows on one wall, filling the space with morning light, and intricate tapestries on the other. Most of the floor sank down several steps below the entrance. In the middle of the room was a low, round table, not much bigger than a poker table, at which sat an older couple, the only other people in the room, but no doubt the king and queen.

They stood up to greet Thor and Clara. Odin was an old man, but still fierce in bearing, as tall and broad as Thor. He wore a metal patch over his right eye and had long silver hair and a greying beard. Beside him stood a woman of similar age, striking in beauty in a toga-like gown, her light hair elaborately set.

"Good morning, Thor," Odin said, nodding toward her. "And welcome, lady of Midgard."

The intimate setting was less a royal audience and more like a "meet the parents" situation, which did not put Clara any more at ease. Especially when Loki's voice continued to echo softly in her brain. She did not notice that she tightened her hold on Thor's arm as he led her down to the table.

"Odin, King of Asgard, and Queen Frigga," Thor said, "I present Clara McKenna, daughter of Senator McKenna of Midgard."

Clara curtseyed awkwardly, not sure how else to greet the royals of Asgard—or any royals anywhere, really.

"Sit, please, and join us," Frigga said. Clara sat on her left, and Thor beside Clara. Immediately two servants emerged from another doorway to bring trays of food.

Clara's stomach cringed a little when she saw it: several fishes and vegetables with strange smells, dense breads, and a squishy-looking fruit. It was a far cry from her usual bagel or hard-boiled egg.

"Had we known sooner of your coming," Frigga said, "we might have prepared you food more like that of Midgard. I do hope you will like it as it is."

"Thank you," Clara said. She tried to smile as one of the servants spooned something onto her plate. "It's just nice of you to have me here at all. I'm sorry for being intrusive and coming unannounced…"

"You must not apologize," Frigga said. "We are glad to host such an important visitor from Midgard."

_Again with the important visitor thing_, Clara thought as she chewed. The fruit was surprisingly good. _I wonder if they have me confused with Kate Middleton? _That_ would be a first._

"Indeed we are," Odin said, confirming his wife's statement. "We are burdened by a debt to Midgard, as one of our own has committed an act of war against your realm, and against our wishes. We must make our amends before your people prepare for war."

"I have told you, Father," Thor spoke up, "the weapons of Midgard have advanced because of the Tesseract, but they are still incapable of combat with ours. They do not even possess the means to reach Asgard."

"Nonetheless," Odin said. "Midgard is under your protection, and your brother is at fault—you must take an interest."

"I do," Thor said before going back to his breakfast.

"Thor, your sleeve is not a napkin, and you are not eating with Volstagg," Frigga said softly as she waved away the servants. Clara kept her jaw clenched shut so she would not laugh out loud. "Besides, we were not to speak of this so soon."

"I'm sorry," Clara said, her confusion and curiosity overcoming her awe of dining with royalty, "but what's this about—preparing for war and the weapons of Midgard and all that?"

"Your people's work with the Tesseract helped create new forms of weaponry, and other worlds have heard of it," Thor explained. "We are the keepers of the Tesseract, and share a responsibility for this. Asgard wants peace with your world, but also hopes to protect it from those who would seek to challenge it."

"Like Loki?" she asked.

"Yes," Thor said. "But other attackers may not be as easy to control."

"Loki was _easy _to control?" Clara asked. "He did a lot of damage before you guys got him under '_control_.'"

"I confess, we had not cooperated soon enough to prevent significant damage. It was a deadly failing, and we shall make amends for it."

"Shouldn't Loki be making amends?" Clara asked. "Compensation? Incarceration? Do you have waterboarding here?"

"Loki will be isolated," Thor said. "I shall attempt to reconcile with him in time, but I fear he will never have the freedom he once had as prince of Asgard. Punishment with violence would only feed his desire for revenge and make him more dangerous than ever."

"Too bad," Clara said, thinking that if they did practice some form of torture in Asgard, she'd like to have a go at Loki.

"Thor," Odin said, "since we have…broached the subject, perhaps you may tell Clara McKenna of what we discussed yesterday."

"Of course," Thor replied. He cleared his throat and addressed Clara. "When you asked yesterday to join me in Asgard, I thought it madness, but it gave me an idea. Thanks to Loki's attempt to seize power, your people now know that there are worlds beyond them, but they believe they have no friends among the realms, that we are all of the same mind as Loki."

Clara nodded, remembering how people had been freaking out about alien invaders after the media began to cover Loki's attack and the Avengers' defense. She was not sure how else to respond, as she did not fully understand everything Thor was talking about. The Avengers had kept mentioning S.H.I.E.L.D., some secret organization she knew little of. She didn't really get the whole Tesseract thing, but knew it only as the device used to get her to Asgard.

"While speaking with my father after our arrival," Thor continued, "we thought to appoint an ambassador, to convey the mind of your people to Asgard and to speak on our behalf to the people of Earth. The Midgardians must come to understand that Loki acted selfishly, and not by our command or on our behalf. This position should belong to one who is not a warrior, and obviously it would be best fulfilled by someone who is of Midgard."

"And diplomacy is not a talent of Thor's," Odin said.

Thor paused, indignation flashing in his eyes a moment, before he continued to speak to Clara. "We believe that you are most suited for such a position, if you would accept it."

She froze, staring at him and glad to be sitting down. Maybe she misheard them—she _hoped _she had misheard them. They looked at her expectantly, and finally she sputtered out, "Me? Why?"

"A member of Midgardian royalty could be the most influential."

"Oh, jeeze," Clara said. "I've been meaning to clear that up. The thing is…" She paused, almost afraid to tell them the truth, lest they think she was intentionally deceiving them and throw her in a cell like Loki's—or worse, _with_ Loki.

"I'm…not royalty," she finally said.

Thor frowned at her. She tensed in response, hoping he wouldn't get angry enough to wield his hammer against her. "You said your father was a ruler of Midgard."

"Well, in a _way_, but a senator isn't considered a ruler. He's not in charge of the whole country or anything. We don't even call the president a 'ruler,' really." The three of them looked at her, confused, perhaps thinking she had gone mad. She suddenly felt like she was teaching an elementary civics class. "He represents one of the United States in Congress, and he _does _help pass laws…"

She was at a loss to explain much more, realizing that phrases such as "bicameral legislature" and "subcommittee" probably were meaningless here. Even "voting" might not carry much weight.

"That sounds like a ruler to me," Odin said, narrowing the one eye she could see. His stern tone frightened her, just a little.

"He doesn't really _rule _California," she said. "I mean, he's not governor or anything. But…yeah, okay, he does have political power, and he is in charge of _some_ things, but there are a hundred—I mean, _literally _one hundred senators. And people pick them, he didn't inherit the job."

"But your father is in a position of power and influence," Thor said.

"Well, yes, that much is true, yes."

"And you share in this, as his offspring."

She laughed in spite of herself. "No, not so much. I mean, yeah, people recognize me sometimes, like Tony Stark, and I got to go on trips with him as a kid…again, sometimes. He always wanted me to get into politics too and run for senate, or governor, eventually president. But I couldn't get it through his head that I wasn't interested. So I packed up and went to college in New York, and lived there ever since. All I've wanted to do is take pictures and tell people about the places I've been. I have no intention of getting involved in government, so this is way out of my depth. I totally understand why you'd need someone as an ambassador, I think that's a great idea, but I don't think that someone is me."

"I would ask you to reconsider," Odin said. Clara felt another flash of fear, but then realized that his tone was matter-of-fact, not threatening. "Of course you would name whatever terms you wished. We would make provisions—a place for you in the palace, when you are in Asgard. Now that the Tesseract is once more under our control, I have appointed our most powerful seers and sorcerers to create a device that will allow its user to travel between the two realms, even without the Bifrost."

"Well, if I said yes to this, that _would _be handy," Clara said. "But I still…"

Thor leaned toward her, so slightly it was almost imperceptible—but Clara could tell.

"It was not only your position in Midgard that prompted us to make this offer," he said.

In the few seconds he paused, Clara's imagination broke from its leash and ran wild, but she did not have time to indulge before he continued.

"We would need a mortal who would speak pleasant—but true—words about Asgard, about its king, about our world here. You were already curious about this place, and when you arrived yesterday…I could see how it pleased you. All that we would ask is that you share this with the people of Midgard. You said yourself you wanted to tell others of the places you have seen."

"Yeah," Clara said quietly, her insides feeling fluttery at Thor's appeal and trying to keep from giving in simply because his eyes were so pretty. "But I just meant, like, on my blog. I'm not…qualified to work in…any official capacity."

"If you are concerned about a lack of experience, perhaps that would be considered an advantage among the commoners of Midgard."

_Who said he couldn't do diplomacy?_ Clara thought to herself. _He's thought of everything_.

Suddenly she thought of her father, of the political yes-men around him that she had known all her life, of the two-faced campaigning, the late hours, the constant public pandering and appeals to higher powers. She thought of the years of lessons in law and history and political science crammed down her throat, even when she was too young to grasp them. She remembered the exhilaration of signing up for art and literature classes when she was finally across the country, on her own. She felt a burning in her throat when she remembered how she finally told her father—several years after the fact—that she had quit school halfway through her sophomore year, and did not know when—or if—she would go back.

No—she had come too far on her own to take even the smallest step backward. Even if accepting it meant a longer stay in Asgard—and more time with Thor.

"No one is asking you to make the decision immediately, Clara," Frigga said. "You may think of it for a little while, if you need to."

"I don't think I need to," Clara said. She stood up from the table. "Your majesties, Thor, thank you all, but my answer is no, and…I want to go home."


	6. Neither Reason Nor Rhyme

"Will you not change your mind?" Thor asked.

"I'm really sorry," Clara said. "I don't think I can fully explain all my reasons, but I just can't do it. It's something I tried to escape for years. Trust me, I'm not the woman for the job."

"Would your father not be proud of your taking on such a duty?" Frigga asked.

"My father has never been proud of anything I've done—nothing my own choice, anyway."

Frigga said no more, but looked at her with a woeful sympathy. It was enough for Clara to regret her rudeness, and _almost _enough to make her rethink her decision. She caught sight of Odin, and her heart skipped a beat. He looked furious, but there was a vagueness about his anger that made her wonder if it was entirely directed at her. Clara did the first thing that came to her mind, and curtseyed deeply.

"Forgive me, your majesties, if I've been discourteous. You've been kind and welcoming, but I really do think it's time for me to be on my way."

Thor, who had stood up when she did, took a step toward her. "May I speak with you in private, Clara?" he asked quietly.

"Excuse me," she said to Odin and Frigga before picking up her camera and following Thor into the corridor.

"You're walking too fast!" she gasped. He promptly slowed his pace. "Thanks," she said, catching up. "Look, Thor, I'm really sorry I disappointed you. But if you knew everything I grew up with…I just couldn't do it. I tried to escape a political life already."

Thor's face was a mask, one she desperately hoped was not concealing anger toward her. He led her to a room full of couches and cushions, obviously for lounging and leisurely conversation.

"Perhaps you would accept a bargain of sorts," he said, waving his hand to a chair.

"What do you mean?" Clara asked, sitting down. He settled on a sofa facing her.

"What was it you said you had on Earth to tell stories? Your…blog?"

Clara nodded, snickering at how the word sounded from his lips.

"Will you still use it to talk about Asgard when you have returned?"

"Of course," she said. "I'm not offended by the job offer or anything. It's just not for me. It's been great here, and I'd say so on my…blog."

"Do you not see?" Thor asked. "That is all we request—that you speak well of Asgard to your people."

"Okay, but…" She sighed. "What you're talking about is more than that, isn't it? I figured you'd want me to travel around the globe, meeting with world leaders and giving speeches, saying yeah, there are bad guys out there, but the Asgardians have our backs, they're not the ones to fear."

"Well, yes," Thor admitted. "More or less."

"Then I'd be a big disappointment to you," she said. "I haven't got the prestige to pull that off. As I said, that's out of my depth. I'm gonna go home, post some pictures, say 'Hey, this place is gorgeous and so are the—and—and the people seem great, and they're not psychopathic killers looking to take over our planet.' Then I'll hop on a plane to Morocco, or Thailand, and write about that."

She paused for breath. It seemed as though the stoic expression on Thor's face was giving way. Did his eyes look a little sad? She felt a twinge in her gut to think she had caused it. Not for the first time, she felt a sudden desire for nothing more than to see him smile again.

"My bargain is this," he said. "That you not allow _us_ to persuade you, but let your people do so."

"My people?"

"If they react strongly to your reports, if they want to know more, if it captures their attention—then, perhaps, reconsider. If they do not believe you, or do not want to hear about it, then you may ignore our offer. Consider: would your people want to hear of your travels to a land already known, or would they want to know more about a world they never knew existed?"

Clara frowned at her. Odin had to be insane, or somehow biased against his son, because as far as she could tell, he was a pretty good diplomat. Or a good bargainer. It felt like cheating to her, though. There was no way, now that the "Midgardians" knew there were extraterrestrials for sure, that they would not want to know more about them.

"At the very least," he added, before she could respond, "you _will _have some time to think it over."

"Will I?" Clara asked.

"Yes." He smiled, and she felt her stomach turn over. "My father's sorcerers are occupied with the Tesseract, and for how long, I do not know. Until they are finished with it, we cannot take you home."

"You've _got _to be kidding me," she said. As she glared at him, he cleared his throat and forced his features into a more somber expression.

"I do not jest. You must remain our guest until the Tesseract is stable enough to allow your return."

"You're going to keep me prisoner here until I agree, aren't you?"

Thor shook his head. "That I will not do, you have my word. You are no prisoner—as soon as may be, I _will _take you home to Earth. You may make your decision there."

"Once I'm back home, how will I let you know if I change my mind?" Clara asked haughtily.

Thor looked at her silently for several awkward seconds, during which Clara found it increasingly difficult to breathe. At last a grin slowly formed on his face. It did not help her condition.

"Does this mean you _could _change your mind?" he asked.

Clara blinked and tried not to smile. She pursed her lips for a moment and said, "No. I won't."

Thor chuckled, then stood up. "Shall you see more of Asgard before you go?"

"If I'm not keeping you from anything," she said.

"My father is well, Loki is under control, and the Tesseract is in capable hands." He nodded deferentially toward her. "My time is at my guest's disposal."

"Wow…thanks. You don't, I dunno, have training or something?" she asked, eyeing the prominent muscles in his arms.

"Would you like to see where our warriors practice?"

"I was kind of kidding, but sure!"

Once again, Clara hurried to keep up as Thor led her through the palace to another entrance. He walked more slowly this time—like Herdis, he waited while she ooh'd and aah'd and took more photographs. Outside, they crossed another bridge and climbed a set of stairs carved into the side of a mountain, finally reaching a broad meadow.

Scattered across the flat, grassy land, was a series of fences and other barriers, with paths stomped down into dirt over ages of use. At a distance, two men nearly as tall and strapping as Thor practiced fighting. Further away, a few children played, chasing and laughing and trying to imitate the men.

Thor watched the activity in silence as Clara eagerly employed her camera. She laughed at the kids and gasped at the mock battle. She groaned when one of the warriors collapsed, apparently defeated. She let out a little cheer when she saw that he was feinting, just before he struck another blow to his opponent. When the exercise ended, one of them walked toward the children. The victor strode toward toward Thor and Clara, removing his helmet and revealing a head of blonde hair and a matching goatee, his smile and glinting eyes roguish.

As he shook out his hair from the confinement of the helmet, Clara thought of a shampoo commercial.

"Thor, my friend!" the man called out. "Congratulations on your successes in Midgard."

"Thank you, Fandral," Thor said.

"Is this the Midgardian maiden I have heard of?" he asked, turning to Clara as he tucked his helmet under one arm and removed his gauntlets.

"Clara McKenna," Thor said. "This is Fandral, a warrior of Asgard, the best of us with the blade."

"My lady," Fandral said, taking Clara's hand and kissing it with a flourish. "There is word of your loveliness, but the reports do you no justice." He looked at Thor smugly. "I hope you are making her stay a most enjoyable experience, else I shall have to assume that responsibility myself." Before they had time to respond, he added, "Of course you will be staying for the banquet!"

"What banquet?" Clara asked, as Thor groaned.

"Why, Frigga is holding a banquet for the prince's victorious return! The future king defeated an alien race and saved Midgard yet again, and recovered the Tesseract and that fiend Loki. We _must _celebrate!"

Thor smiled patiently at his friend before turning to Clara. "I suppose you shall see more of Asgard than originally planned."

Much to her irritation, Fandral tagged along with them well into the afternoon. Occasionally he tired of flirting with the unresponsive Clara and instead engaged in conversation with Thor. They traversed meadows, the edges of forests, and along the streams and waterfalls, Clara busy with her photography. At the same time, she tried to listen to Thor describing the battle against the Chitauri, and how he had come to meet the other Avengers. Several times she stopped to ask questions, or just to hear him, fascinated by the tale Thor wove—and simply enjoying the sound of his voice.

As the two men were talking, standing by a stream that flowed to the edge of a cliff, Clara sat down on the grass, leaning against a boulder. She removed a slipper to rub her aching feet, wishing she had gone back for her boots. She had to admit, she was used to trekking all over the city, but she could not keep up with two mighty Asgardians. It didn't help that she had not slept long the night before. But the grass was soft and sweet-smelling, and the bubbling noise of the water mixed so pleasantly with the rumble of Thor's voice. She closed her eyes, almost glad that she couldn't go home yet.

* * *

When she opened her eyes, there was darkness. She felt a mattress under her back, and closed her eyes again. _Well, crap,_ she thought, _that _was _a dream_. But once again, she could not hear traffic or any other familiar noises. She shifted in the bed a little and felt the lingering ache in her feet and legs from all that walking. She must have fallen asleep by the stream.

_Did Thor carry me back here? _she wondered. She bit her lip to keep from grinning to herself. Too bad she hadn't been awake for _that._

After a knock on the door, Kadlin came in to open the curtains.

"I have brought you some breakfast, my lady," she said. "It is not much. We thought you would like to save your appetite for the banquet. The games will begin soon, at least."

"That's today?" she asked. _Jeeze, Fandral hadn't mentioned _that.

"Indeed. Frigga sent you a frock, unless you would rather wear your Midgardian clothes? They have been…thoroughly washed."

Clara went with the dress, still feeling bad for being rude the day before, but stuck with her own boots.

After bathing, dressing, and taking a last bite of bread, someone knocked on the outer door. Clara lunged for it before Kadlin had a chance. Just as she had hoped, Thor was standing on the other side. He wore shining new armor and looked like he actually washed his hair and trimmed his beard. Clara smiled.

"You look dashing," she said, the first thing that came to her mind.

He looked at her, pleased, his eyes as bright and kind as ever. "You look…very well rested."

"Oh, yeah. Um…did I fall asleep by that stream?" she asked.

"You did. I thought we should wake you for supper, but Fandral insisted that he carry you here."

Clara's face fell too quickly for her to catch it. "Oh," she said. "I see."

"I made certain he made no inappropriate advances in your exhausted state."

She gave him a disdainful expression. _He needed to clarify that?_ "Great, thanks."

"Well…we must be on our way," he said.

Outside the palace, Clara expected something like a Renaissance festival, and she was not completely off the mark. There were no booths selling giant turkey legs or handmade jewelry, and she never heard anyone say "Forsooth!" There were, however, spaces set aside for musicians and dancers. The warriors' practice field was full of men and some women performing feats of strength and agility, such as spear throwing, wrestling, weightlifting, and races—on foot and on horses. At one end of the field was an enormous tented area with long tables full of food.

Clara was glad that she had switched to her spare camera battery before the festivities. Everywhere she looked, there was something new to see and hear and smell and taste. She forgot every exotic name the moment Thor introduced her to someone, and since news of her arrival had spread, someone always wanted to meet the "Midgardian maiden." She met Thor's longtime friend Sif, a woman of nearly Amazon proportions who had won one of the athletic competitions. Thor also introduced Clara to the fat and merry Volstagg and the grim-faced Hogun, who, with Fandral, formed the "Warriors Three." Between the people, the music and dancing, the food spreads, and the athletics, Clara's eyes could not see enough, and her finger could not press her shutter button fast enough.

Wine, ale, and mead flowed as freely as the conversation, even in the morning. It was far stronger than anything Clara had tasted on Earth, so she tried to pace herself. Even so, by the time she sat down between Thor and Volstagg for the grand afternoon meal, her mind was already fuzzy.

"How _does _that contraption work?" Fandral asked, speaking across Volstagg. "You haven't put it down since I met you." He had started on the mead early; his words slurred together ever so slightly.

Clara finished chewing her food and swallowed before she answered, trying to decide how to explain her camera to Asgardians. At least with Captain America, he'd seen _some_ kind of camera before.

"It's a machine that will…record an image of anything I point it at, freezing a picture of it in that moment of time," she said, speaking slowly. "They're all saved inside, in miniature form. When I go back to Earth, I'm gonna connect it to another machine and that will share the pictures of Asgard with other people. And they can learn about this realm and…" She grinned. "And how great and noble and mighty and very, _very_ kind and hospitable the Asgardians are."

As she spoke, the faces of Volstagg, Fandral, and everyone else within earshot looked more and more confused. But once she finished, they cheered her compliments. Smiling, she turned to see if Thor had heard what she said, but to her disappointment, he was not in his seat beside hers. He was at a far end of the table, talking to other guests and being congratulated again.

"What images have you made?" Volstagg asked, jolting her thoughts as he swallowed a hunk of bread.

"I'll show you." As he watched curiously, she looked through the photos until she found Volstagg and Hogun in a swordfighting challenge—her favorite action shot so far. She tilted the screen toward Volstagg. His jaw dropped, and the half-masticated meat in his mouth almost fell out. When Fandral saw it, even he was at a loss for words.

"I didn't know you had such magic in Midgard!" Volstagg exclaimed.

Clara giggled, feeling even more the effects of the drink. "We call it 'technology' there, but yeah, it's magical sometimes."

"And you will show this image to your people?" Fandral asked.

"Sure will," she said. She paused to drink from her cup and said, "Here's another one." She pulled up one of Fandral from the day before, then held out the camera for him to see.

"Remarkable!" he said. "I did not realize that was what you had been doing all this time." He grinned. "I have to say, I like this one. I think the ladies in Midgard will enjoy such a sight."

Chuckling again, Clara turned off her camera and set it aside to take another drink. "I'm sure they will," she said. "They'll be glad to know we have such kick-ass soldiers on our side, in case someone like Loki tries to attack us again."

"Not a chance for Loki," Volstagg said, speaking between swigs from his goblet. "You should see his cell. He's locked up and guarded with soldiers _and _magic, and Odin took away his powers, surely."

"You should have some pictures of _him!_" Fandral said, his speech running together even more with increasing drink. "Show the Midgardians that they have no reason to fear him now."

Clara frowned, trying to think through the haze of wine. "They probably _would _like to know what happened to him," she mumbled. Still, she was not keen on going back down to the cell and facing more taunts from the prisoner.

"We will take you there, Clara McKenna," Fandral said. "Before the play-acting begins. It will be perfect timing."

"What timing?" came a female voice. Fandral, Volstagg, and Clara looked up to see Sif standing there, her arms folded as she looked curiously between them. "Not stealing Thor's guest away, are you?"

Clara felt another jab inside her mind as she remembered Loki's taunts of the other night—or morning, rather. She began to feel nauseated at the memory, though that might have just been the wine.

"She has been freezing images of everything in Asgard," Fandral said. "We are going to take her to the dungeon so she can show the Midgardians how Loki is well out of trouble."

Sif frowned. "Thor wouldn't like it if he knew anyone had been to Loki's cell just to mock him."

"Now…now Sif," Volstagg said, also tipsy and stumbling over his words. "Don't spoil our fun. What Thor doesn't know will not harm _anyone_." He looked down at the table. "Though I do hate to leave during the meal."

"The food will still be here when we return," Fandral said exasperatedly, standing up. "Come along, Clara! Now Sif, be a dear and just don't tell Thor where we've gone."

Somewhere in the cloud of booze came the belief that this was an idea worth pursuing. Clara followed Volstagg, Fandral, and another young warrior—who had been sitting on Fandral's other side and asked to join them—out from under the tent and across the field to the palace.

A sober Clara would have caught familiar landmarks on the way down several flights of twisting stairs and long, increasingly narrow hallways. But by this time, the mead had thoroughly worked its way through body and brain, and she could only think about keeping one hand on the camera and one hand clinging to Fandral, determined just to stay upright as she put one foot in front of the other. They were laughing almost too hard for even this to be possible.

There were now two guards standing at the end of Loki's corridor. As Clara's brain tried to process this information, she missed what Fandral and Volstagg said to them. Whatever it was, it was enough to allow the four to pass. Coming closer to the familiar glow of the barrier that kept Loki from the rest of the world, Clara began to feel dread rising up within her, as well as a fresh wave of nausea.

"Greetings, esteemed prisoner of Asgard!" Volstagg shouted when they were in front of the cell. "We've come to pay you a visit."

Like last time, Loki was sitting on the bench against the far wall. He looked up at them and met each of their gazes in turn. Clara knew she should have anticipated it, but she was still struck by the cold loathing in his eyes. But was there something else too—something she couldn't identify. She clenched her eyes shut, shaking her head as though to shake away the fog in her head.

"Go on then, Clara, with that machine of yours!" Fandral said, nudging her. Volstagg and the young warrior encouraged her before they called out a few choice insults at the captive.

She opened her eyes and felt her breath catch in her lungs when she saw that Loki was still watching. He did not move; he did not make a sound. With trembling hands, she lifted up her camera and positioned him in the viewfinder. When the flash went off, he cringed and blinked with a grimace, obviously taken aback. Still, he said nothing. Clara tried to laugh with the others, but she could not manage more than a slight grin, and could not bring herself to press that button again.

When she looked at him once more, she felt a fresh surge of terror. He did not seem to hear the mockery of the others. His eyes were focused on her alone, and his glare was murderous.

She would not have had the chance to take another picture, even if she wanted to. A deep voice came crashing down the stone corridor with the deafening echoes of running footsteps.

"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?"

_Oh, shit_, Clara thought. She would have dropped her camera if the strap had not been around her neck.

"Thor, don't be so melodramatic," Volstagg said. "We were only hav—"

"GET AWAY FROM HIM!" Thor shouted, rushing out of the shadows.

He grabbed Volstagg by the neck of his armor and, in the heat of his anger, pulled him away from the cell, the momentum sending Volstagg crashing against the floor further down the hall. He shoved Fandral and the younger man away, then whirled on Clara. She took a few unsteady steps back until she felt herself pressed against the wall behind her. Thor stood still, scowling at her as her eyes crossed and uncrossed, trying to focus amidst her terror and confusion.

What she could see—the hurt, the disgust, the outrage in his face —she could not bear. Yet she could not look away as her whole body tensed, her pulse pounding, unable to decide between fight or flight. Watching Thor, not sure what he would do, she finally shifted her feet, preparing to join the warriors in beating a hasty retreat from his wrath. Then, faster than she could think, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her along beside him, hurrying back the way he came, the others rushing ahead.

"You foolish woman!" his voice thundered through the halls. "We have afforded you every comfort and courtesy here, and you could not allow my brother to keep even the smallest amount of dignity?"

"What the hell?" Clara said, trying to twist herself from his grasp as she felt her indignation rise. "He's a criminal! And _you're_ the one who wants me to show off Asgard!"

"Not this," he said. "Loki is my brother, and you do him no good by mocking his state. I mean to help him, and your gawking will only make things worse!"

"It's not like it was _my _idea," she grumbled, feeling her throat burn with the threat of tears. She kept trying to pull away, but there was no getting out of Thor's hold on her arm. She almost had a mind to collapse to the floor and be dragged along in an act of civil disobedience.

"You did not have to agree," he said. "Be assured, I will not allow this to happen again…"

Back at the banquet, a few Asgardians looked at them strangely, no doubt curious about why Thor was forcibly returning his guest to the party. Clara's three co-conspirators had returned to their seats, all with sheepish expressions. Thor "helped" her to her seat with a shove before returning to his.

"I can sit on my own, thanks," Clara said. She swallowed, feeling tears start to form. She looked around, trying to appear as if all was well. She noticed that her goblet had been refilled and lifted it to her lips, draining every drop.

"Now is not the time, but I _will _speak to the three of you later," Thor said, leaning across Clara to address Volstagg and the others.

"Come on, Thor, it was just a game, really," Fandral said. "All in good fun. You must relax."

"Do I look to be in a gaming mood?" Thor growled at his friend. Fandral was silent, turning his attention to the open space in front of the banqueting tables. Several actors were assembling for a play.

"Are you all right?" Volstagg asked Clara.

"I'm fine," she said, looking into the empty cup as though not sure what had happened to its contents.

"Here," he said, "allow me." He took the goblet from her, shouted "ANOTHER!" and threw it down upon the grass.

Clara shrieked when a burst of flame erupted beside them, then promptly vanished. The others sitting around them laughed. Almost immediately, a servant came hurrying up to her with another full cup.

She tried to pay attention to the actors' opening speeches, but she could not get Loki's face out of her mind. She knew she saw pain mixed with his anger. He had to be plotting some kind of revenge. Did he think she told the warriors of the other day? Did he think _she _was seeking revenge for what he had done to her city? Even worse was the look on Thor's face when he had discovered them. She should have realized how much he still cared for his brother, in spite of what he had done.

With no anchor of sobriety, her mind sailed to all sorts of places, churning up nearly every emotion she was capable of feeling—homesickness, guilt, frustration, sorrow, disappointment—until tears flooded her eyes. Finally she pushed her chair away and picked up her cup.

"Where are you going?" Thor asked.

"Away," she said, her voice choked. She stumbled over the hem of her dress, sloshing part of the contents of her goblet on it. Brooding and now thoroughly inebriated, she wandered from the feasting and the play, along the edge of the forest that bordered the athletic field.

_I want to go home, _she thought, stopping to sit on the grass and stare into the trees. _I'm such an idiot, and now Thor hates me. No, Loki was the idiot—if he doesn't want people seeing him in prison, he shouldn't have gotten himself there. He's probably going to escape and try to kill me. Ugh, I feel sick. Definitely the worst vacation of my life. Why did I come at all?_

She tried to take another sip of the wine, but the taste made her stomach shudder. She dropped the goblet, leaned forward, and vomited onto the ground.

_If I die, at least I'm dying someplace pretty_, she thought, wiping her mouth on the sleeve of her dress.

"Clara!" a deep voice called, sending a pulse through her head like a club to her skull. She cringed and curled into the fetal position. She felt the thud of footfalls through the ground, and then saw a shadow over her. She turned her head just enough to see Thor standing above her, then looked away again.

"If you're going to kill me, better get on with it," she said.

"I'm not going to kill you," he said softly. "You've nearly done that yourself." He crouched down beside her. "You're not used to Asgardian drink."

"Not so much," she groaned, still not looking at him. "Ugh, I never drank like this even in college."

"Clara," he said, more gently this time, "I am sorry for my harsh words. You must understand that my brother and I—" He stopped. "Now is not the time to talk of this. You are unwell."

"I'll be fine," she said, still lying on her side. "Just…let me die for a minute." She heard him sigh, then felt his hands on her, lifting her up to a sitting position. "Hey—!"

"You need rest," he said, picking her up as he stood and carrying her across the field. "I will not leave you alone out here."

She knew that she wasn't going to get the best of him in a physical match. She could not have fought her way out of his arms—and she was getting motion sickness from the sensation of bobbing along with his footsteps. She almost tried to bury her face in his shoulder, but she clanked her forehead on the armor, adding to her pains. This was certainly not the way she imagined Thor carrying her around.

"I'm sorry I did that," she finally said as they made their way through the palace. "I didn't go to humiliate your brother. I just…wasn't…thinking." She gasped. "My camera! I left it on the table! Shit, they probably broke it by now."

"I'll see that it's brought to you promptly," Thor said. "They will not damage it—Asgardians know to respect magic. Or Midgardian science, in your case."

"Thanks," she said. "You know…for such a huge tough guy, you're really very sweet."

He said nothing as he carried her into her room and set her on the bed. He straightened up, about to leave, and she grabbed his hand.

"Thor?" she whispered.

"Yes?" She wasn't sure how to read his face at the moment; in trying, she forgot what she meant to say. Finally she just said, "I mean it—I really am sorry."

"I know that," he said. "All is well." He hesitated, as though unsure of himself, before he gently brushed his hand against her cheek. Clara closed her eyes, trying to steady her mind long enough to savor the fleeting moment. "I will send Herdis to attend you," he said, then turned away and left the room.


	7. Where is the Wonder, Where's the Awe

**A/N: The only thing I'm going to say is that I think this is my favorite chapter so far.**

* * *

The next morning, Clara fought against the worst hangover of her life as she repeatedly apologized to Thor. He insisted that he was no longer angry at her or the others for mocking Loki's imprisonment and for photographing him in that state. He had not minded returning her to her room when she overindulged in Asgardian wine. Still, his melancholy that day kept her from believing him entirely. She couldn't help throwing out several more "I'm sorrys" and paying penance by refusing to ask for anything to soothe her headache.

Though he agreed to continue their tour of Asgard, Thor deliberately kept to the palace, knowing that she was ill. They visited the enormous assembly room where he had been crowned the future king, and halls full of great treasures and works of art. They came to the chamber that had turned by itself the night Clara came across Loki's cell the first time. Thor explained how it operated against an unwary intruder while she nodded quietly, pretending she had not experienced it firsthand.

They passed through a seemingly endless array of rooms and corridors. Between Thor's descriptions and Clara's camera shots, they shared friendly conversation for the first time since her arrival. Thor told her about his first visit to Earth, brought about by his attempted invasion of Jotunheim, and how Loki had seized the throne of Asgard. The narrative further cemented Clara's dislike of Loki, until Thor backtracked and described his childhood. In the way he spoke of his family, it was obvious how much he still loved his brother and how desperately he wanted peace between them. Clara listened with feelings that grew more and more conflicted.

In turn, she tried to explain her own family life, and with it, her father's job and the basic workings of the U.S. government. She talked about his duties as senator and his support of Tony Stark, and tiptoed around the subject of her mother's quiet misery as a politician's wife. Clara talked about her sister Francine who, despite being a few years older, was the more troubled soul. After a DUI and a stint in jail, she moved in with a guitar player in Montreal, and all their parents' hopes for a political legacy, once split between the sisters, now fell to Clara's unwilling shoulders. It had not taken her long to shrug off those expectations to make her own way in New York.

She was about to describe her roommate and their tiny Brooklyn apartment when they were interrupted.

Varin emerged from around the corner and came to whisper something in Thor's ear. Thor raised his eyebrows and nodded.

"Thank you, Varin," he said. To Clara, "I shall return in a moment."

He did come back, followed by two men dressed in rich blue robes. One of them carried a carved box made of a heavy, dark metal.

"Asgard's greatest magic-users have been hard at work with the Tesseract," Thor said. "We now have a way for you to return to Earth in swiftness and safety."

Eyes widening, Clara rose from her seat. She watched as Thor lifted the lid of the box and removed something small. He turned around and came toward her again, his expression solemn. She looked down at his hand as he held out the object to her, and her heart nearly stopped.

It was a ring—a silver ring with a small, bright blue stone hovering in a tension setting.

It was not a particularly gorgeous piece—though the stone's shimmer was entrancing—but its meaning was unknown to her. She could only stare at it, held between Thor's fingers as he waited for her to take it. She clenched and unclenched her hands, ignorant of what he meant by the gift and unsure of the message she would send by taking it. She struggled to breathe as she wondered what kind of message she _wanted _to send.

_It's only been a few days_, she thought. _We're not in a relationship. He _can't _be asking me to marry him. Can he?_

Finally she looked into his face, saw the slight confusion there, and whispered, "What does this mean?"

"This ring is your means of return," he said. There was no trace of irony or amusement in his voice; he must not have been aware of the silent panic he had inspired. "The stone is connected to the Tesseract. It contains just enough power to transport whoever wears it between Asgard and Earth."

For the thousandth time in the last few days, Clara felt like a complete moron.

"How does it work?" she asked, still unwilling to take it from him.

"When it is on your finger, turn the stone, and you will be taken to the other realm."

_It can't be that easy, _she thought. She looked at him with suspicion.

"That's all there is to it? It won't make me invisible or…summon anything creepy?"

"The stone's only power is to transport you between Asgard and Midgard," Thor said. She wondered if he was losing his patience.

Finally Clara stretched out her hand and gingerly took the ring with her thumb and forefinger, almost afraid it would burn her, or explode, or turn into a deadly spider. It did none of those things. The only surprise was that it felt heavy for its size. She thought she felt a steady pulse of energy from the blue stone, but that may have been her imagination.

"So that's it," she murmured. "Just turn the stone…and I'm back in New York?"

"You did say you wanted to go home?" Thor asked.

Clara did not answer right away. She looked down at the ring pinched between her fingers, the stone's swirling blue light as mesmerizing as the Tesseract's. With a means of departure now literally in her hands, she had to hesitate. She never expected to stay for long, but now…now she wasn't sure that she was really all that eager to go back.

Yet she had already made it quite clear that, once she was gone, she had little intention of returning.

Finally she tried the ring on. It only fit her index finger, somewhat mitigating the awkwardness. She was never much for jewelry, and didn't even want to think about what her friends or roommate would say when she suddenly turned up from a few days' disappearance with unusual bling on her hand. Still, it was pretty…in its way.

After a few more moments of silence, she tore her eyes away and looked back at Thor.

"I…I guess I better gather up my stuff," she said.

* * *

An hour later, she was standing near the entrance Central Park, Thor beside her, on the very spot from which they had left. _Has it really been only a few days? _she wondered, looking around as though she had gotten sidetracked into another foreign land.

The air of the city had never bothered her, but now it felt stifling. The flashing lights, the cars honking, the crowds of people pressing past them almost overwhelmed her senses. She thought about taking a walk through the park before going back to her apartment, but the flowers and grasses seemed lifeless after the flora of Asgard. They stood by a fountain that had once been soothing to her ears, but now seemed to spew its water with a harsh clatter compared to the musical streams that had lulled her to sleep for the past few nights.

Not sure what else to say, she turned to Thor. "Well…it worked."

"Of course," he said. "They made sure to test the stones' power before allowing us to use them."

Clara's ring was not one-of-a-kind: Thor was wearing a similar piece. He could go back to Asgard without her, leaving her a means to return if she wanted. Wedding traditions must have been different on Asgard; the fact that he wore a matching ring did not seem to embarrass Thor at all. Clara had not needed him to come with her, but he had insisted, and she did not discourage him.

"So, I guess this is goodbye," she said, clearing her throat.

"Please reconsider our offer, Clara McKenna. Remember that my father expects you to name your terms if you accept. We shall look forward to seeing you again."

"Yeah," she said, suddenly feeling a little twitchy. She had an idea—one not _quite _as crazy as the one that had taken her to another realm. She looked around to make sure no one was loitering too nearby, then put down her camera bag and hopped up on the marble edge of the fountain. For once, her head was above Thor's—though not by much.

"I said I wouldn't accept the job," she said, "and I don't expect to change my mind." He stared at her, clearly perplexed, as she placed her hands on either side of his face. "So…just in case this _is_ a permanent goodbye?"

She leaned down, closed her eyes, and kissed him. She could feel it take him by surprise. He rallied quickly, however, and responded with equal pressure, and unexpected gentleness. His hands went to her waist, the touch filling her with warmth. She tilted her head slightly, deepening what was intended only as a farewell peck.

Suddenly realizing she had gotten carried away, she broke it off with a gasp, all the warmth now concentrated fully in her cheeks. She felt a little less mortified when she saw that his eyes were alight—and not with mockery.

"I like your idea of a parting gift," he said, smiling.

"It's not for everyone," Clara said. "Trust me, all your dad got was a handshake." He chuckled, and she had to fight the urge to kiss him again. Instead, she said, "I should…probably go home."

He helped her down and she slung her bag back around her shoulder. Still she hesitated, looking around her. _Did I really miss this? I could still go back,_ she thought to herself. Then she remembered her father, and what awaited an aspiring politician. _No, I don't want that. I never did._

"Maybe I'll see you again sometime anyway," she said. "And thanks for everything. Really."

He reached out a hand, and she gave him hers. As she had hoped, he lifted it to his lips and kissed it.

_Ask to come with me … Ask to come with me …_

"Consider what I have said," he said. Without realizing what she was doing, she nodded.

"Okay," she said.

With a final "Goodbye" and a last smile, she turned her back and headed toward the nearest subway station on slightly wobbly legs. With every step, her heart—and her stomach—seemed to sink lower and lower. She stopped to look over her shoulder, but Thor had gone. Disappointed, Clara resumed her walking. She couldn't help looking down at her hand and the stone glowing in its setting. How easy it would be just to go back to that incredible, shining world, to the luxury of Odin's palace, to Thor's side…

She shook her head. _It's always a letdown after a vacation, _she thought. _I'll be fine in a couple days_.

After several subway trains, six city blocks, and three flights of stairs, Clara was standing outside the door of her apartment, fiddling with the keys. Opening the door, she heard the strains of an all-too-familiar song blasting from Safia's room. Clara groaned and pressed her forehead against the doorjamb.

_Never mind, I'll find someone like youuuuuuuu / I wish nothing but the best for you twoooooo…_

Safia and Evan broke up—again. She probably had not even noticed Clara was gone.

She dropped her camera bag off in her room and unlaced her boots. She peeled off her jeans and replaced them with sweatpants, looking around her room as she did so. Yes, there was her wallet on her desk—her phone beside it, the battery dead. With grim amusement, she plugged it in and watched the missed text messages and voicemails pile up as the phone came back to life.

She did not have to bother listening to the voicemails or reading any of the messages to know who to call first.

"Clara, honey!" her mother shrieked into her ear. "Are you okay? I've been worried _sick!_"

"Yes, Mom, I'm—"

"Where _were _you? You didn't call, or answer. It was all over the news, and we tried calling you, the police and the fire department, every hospital in Manhattan. Are you okay?" she asked again.

_We_, Clara thought. _She's still using we, like Dad and I are still communicating._

"Mom, I'm _fine_," Clara answered. "I…got out of the city for a few days and forgot my phone."

"Why didn't you call me?" Mrs. McKenna gasped. "You could have borrowed a phone, or…do they still have payphones somewhere?"

"Mom, I'm really sorry," Clara said. "It was chaos, you know? Everything's fine, I'm fine, Safia's…fine, and Earth is in good hands, so…you know. It's all good."

"Where did you go?"

"I stayed with a friend, erm, upstate." She didn't know why she bothered to lie; her mother read her blog and would find out the truth soon enough.

"They said it was aliens. Honey, did you see it? Where were you?"

"I was in my apartment when it happened," Clara said, "but we were watching the news. It was…yeah, it was aliens. I'm not kidding. I got…I got some good shots of the aftermath."

"You went out there?" her mother gasped. "What were you thinking? You could have been killed!"

"I live in Brooklyn, Mom. I could have been killed several times already. But I didn't go out until it was quieter, after…after the Avengers won."

"The Avengers?" Mrs. McKenna repeated. "Are they real?"

"Yes, very real. I can tell you more about them too, but later. I, uh, need to call some more people and let them know I'm okay. I just got home."

Another lie. Clara hung up and flopped onto her bed, leaving her phone on the desk. _That didn't just happen, did it? _she thought. Everything she had experienced in Asgard had not seemed nearly as bizarre as it did now, back in her tiny apartment with its peeling paint, the lingering smell of takeout and dirty laundry, and Adele's most depressing songs invading her ears on repeat.

She had intended to take a nap and let the dust in her mind settle a bit, but there was no way she could sleep with that music. Besides, even if the apartment was quiet, her mind was not. Sighing, she dragged herself back over to her desk and turned on her computer.

As it usually happened when she was editing photos, she lost all track of time. It was well past midnight when she finally finished uploading her best shots from the damage to the city and the shawarma restaurant, and wrote a few descriptive paragraphs about that day. Nothing about Asgard yet. She would make it a series—spread it out over a week—more for herself than her readers. She needed to readjust. It felt less like post-vacation blues and more like a soldier returning to civilian life. Again, she couldn't believe it had been only a few days.

Looking through so many pictures—not even all of them—made her wish she had not come back. She rubbed her tired eyes and looked over at her bedside table. She had left the ring there as she worked with her camera and her computer. The stone was still shining blue, even in dim light.

_I don't have to be here, _she thought. _It could be easy. I could put it on, and turn the stone, and I'd be back in Asgard, just like that._

_And then what? _came another part of her mind. _What would you expect to do there? You're not taking the ambassador job._

_Right._

Realizing that the apartment was now quiet, Clara clicked "Submit Post" and then collapsed into bed. The last thing she saw before slipping into a dreamless sleep was the blue glow of the Tesseract-powered ring.

* * *

The next morning, a bleary-eyed Clara sat at her desk once again, shaking her hair out with her fingers as she waited for the computer to start up. When she checked the email account for her blog, she almost fell out of her chair.

Seventy-three comments.

Getting seventy-three comments on one of her blog posts was not new, especially on a controversial topic, but never had she acquired seventy-three comments in a few hours. Even as she stared at the inbox, another one popped up.

Most of them were unsurprising.

_OMG YOU MET THE AVENGERS?_

_nice pics_

_Good cosplay. Too bad it's FAKE._

_wheres the shawarma place i want to go maybe i'll meet captain america lol_

_Hey! Where's that hott chick in the leather?_

_LUCKYYYYYYY_

_you idiots don't think this is real, do you?_

_Did you see the Robin Hood guy?_

Some were more interesting.

_It's nice to know that true heroes still exist. I can't imagine how much worse things could have been without the Avengers. But who designed Captain America's costume? A little overdone, I think._

Someone replied to that comment with: _When you have an ass like that, you can wear whatever overdone costume you want._

_You met Bruce Banner? He's one of the smartest physicists in the WORLD! Can you get me his contact info? I have dreamed of showing him one of my papers._

_I can't even imagine what the insurance must be like in NYC after this. Although now I wish I lived there, just a tad._

_Billions upon billions spent on national defense, and New York gets smashed up AGAIN? I KNEW we shouldn't have voted for that idiot._

_I met Tony Stark at a fundraiser a few years ago and hooked up with him that night. Two words: Worth it._

Someone replied: _I'm 100% heterosexual and I would go gay for Tony Stark._

_Why don't we use striker drones here? Seems unfair that the "Avengers" do all the work._

_Just found your blog through another photography site: definitely not what I was expecting, and I mean that in a good way!_

Clara scrolled through the comments, alternating between shaking her head and laughing, sometimes doing both. She replied to a few of them, assuring people of the photos' authenticity and promising more to follow. No, she had not slept with Tony Stark. No, she did not know how to contact Bruce Banner. Yes, she had seen Loki, and he was terrifying. Yes, Captain America was as polite and wholesome and handsome as you would wish, in spite of the ridiculous costume.

She finally took a break to shower and change clothes. There was no sign of Safia as Clara puttered around their tiny kitchen to make lunch. She _had _missed ham sandwiches and pickles.

She almost choked on her mouthful of bread and cold cuts when someone knocked at the door. Everything inside of her went haywire—her knees felt unsteady again, her lungs couldn't function properly. _Please let it be Thor_ popped into her head before she could squash the thought.

But when she looked through the peephole, all she saw was the back of a head of short, dark hair. _Definitely not Thor_.

She turned the handle. The moment she opened the door, the man outside turned around to face her.

"Hey, Princess Clara. Have a good trip?"


	8. Crownless Again Shall Be the King

**A/N: No, you did not miss a chapter. I just haven't resolved the cliffhanger yet. This one is short, but it was fun to write. In a painful way. You'll see what I mean.**

* * *

The guards nodded at Thor as he walked past them. The soft light of the cell grew brighter as he came closer. Inside, Loki lay on his back, staring at the ceiling with an empty expression.

"How are you?" Thor asked him.

"Little has changed since you last asked that question, Odinson," Loki replied, altering neither his expression nor his position. "Why should you expect a different answer this time?"

"Each time you might finally tell me the truth," Thor said.

"Always the optimist."

Thor stood before the cell, silently watching Loki pretend he was not there. The shimmering window was not the only barricade between them. Knowing that he had lost his brother's heart sent a physical pain coursing through his body. It seemed that no amount of threats, cajoling, bargaining, or pleading could bring him back. By now, Thor was nearly out of ideas, if not entirely out of hope. As he observed Loki stonily gaze toward the ceiling, Thor craved a return to the days of their childhood, of the fierce loyalty, unabashed confidence, and the candid affection the brothers had shared.

"I am sorry about Fandral and the others," Thor finally said. "They were not to come here, but there was too much wine, and…they regret their actions."

Loki could not help making the slightest snort of derision in response. Thor ignored it.

"Clara, especially, was sorry," he continued. "She did not intend to come to cause you discomfort. I thought you ought to know that."

"How touching."

"I fully intend to see that you retain some privacy and courtesies. I have spoken to the warriors, and Clara has returned to Midgard, so another incident like that will not occur."

"Tired of her, have you?" Loki asked, finally turning his head to look at Thor. "That did not take long."

Thor took a deep breath through his nostrils, recognizing Loki's attempts to provoke him and build even more walls between them.

"She wanted to go home to Earth," he said, "but she is welcome to return to Asgard if she wishes. We have given her the means to do so, but—"

"I could not care less what you do with your concubine," Loki interrupted, turning his head to stare at the ceiling again. "Tiresome wretch," he added.

"Do you speak of her, or of yourself?" Thor asked, struggling to control his temper. "You do not seem to be in a position that allows you to mock another."

"You've said yourself you did not realize what I am capable of, _Odinson,_" Loki spat the name as he sat up and turned around, his whole body now facing Thor. He sneered as he said, "It seems I am always to be underestimated."

"To be underestimated in cruelty is no triumph, brother," Thor said. Loki did not alter his expression, but he shifted his gaze away. After some silence, Thor asked, "Loki, what must I do? What _is _there to be done with you?"

"There is nothing you can do," Loki said. "Stop asking. If I am to be caged for all eternity, so be it, but unless you _mean _to torture me, you can cease your attempts at counsel."

"That is the very problem I am trying to address," Thor said. "I do not _want_ you caged for all eternity. I do not intend to torture you. I mean to reconcile. But if you cannot realize…" He paused, swallowing back the harshest words he had in mind. "If you refuse to see what you have done…I do not know what else to do with you."

Loki watched Thor's jaw clench and his lips curl in what may have been disgust, possibly sorrow. His eyes were pleading. There was a time when such an expression would have torn Loki's heart; now it barely pricked at his conscience. Everything had unraveled too far and gone too wrong for there to be anything but enmity between the brothers. Sometimes, in the dark and the quiet, when he let his mind go far enough, Loki almost began to wish it could be otherwise. And yet, if he repented, if he was welcomed back into the fold of Asgardian royalty, what would be left for him but more of the same—underestimated, overlooked, pushed aside? They had to learn that he would no longer allow it to be so, never again.

Thor sighed, stepping closer to the solid curtain that blocked Loki from the world. "I wish only that things could be as they were—when we could speak freely to one another, about everything. I wish you would tell me what happened to you."

"I told you—I have grown," Loki said. "I have seen other worlds. I am no longer content to return to those 'golden days' you crave so much."

"And you would prefer this?" Thor asked, pressing one hand against the barrier. "Are you _happier _here, brother?" Loki would not answer him. "I spoke to Odin on your behalf. You could have been destroyed, or banished, or tortured. I believed you could be ours once again, and that is why you are here. I would believe it still, if you would…if you would only cooperate, even in the smallest way."

The two watched each other carefully, silently, as the minutes crawled past. They seemed to be trying to read each other, to no avail. At last, Thor saw Loki's rigid shoulders relax and the strained expression of animosity soften—almost imperceptibly, but he knew he saw it.

"If you had your wish," Loki said slowly, staring past Thor at the wall behind him, "to 'speak freely,' as you described it, what might you tell me?"

Thor did not answer right away, hoping rather than believing that the question was sincerely asked.

"I think I do not know anymore," he said. "We could be friendly, for once. Perhaps I would tell you about the banquet. We could talk about who won the footraces, or the spear-throwing." Looking down at the floor, he raked his fingers once through his golden hair, thinking of Clara and their goodbye a short time ago. "I simply do not know how to speak to you as before, when I know you care not for any of it now."

Loki observed him. Thor seemed to grow more agitated as he spoke, and Loki thought he could guess the reason why.

"That is not really what is on your mind," he said softly.

Thor looked into Loki's face for a flash before he glanced away again. He did not see the slight, knowing smile on his brother's face.

"Perhaps you should not have let her return to Midgard," Loki added. "You could have prevented her leaving, if you really wished."

Steeling himself, Thor looked at him again. This time, he saw the smile. "Whom do you mean?" he asked imperiously.

Loki's grin faded into an expression of disgusted exasperation. "Clearly you think me as thick-headed as you are. Well, no matter. Perhaps I was mistaken, and you do not wish to speak of her after all. Tell me about these footraces, then," he added disdainfully.

Thor scoffed and took a few steps back from the cell, turning aside as though he meant to leave. He paused, though, before pivoting back to face Loki. Words poured out of him as though a weakening dam had finally broken.

"She did not mean to humiliate you. After what you've done to her world, after what you attempted to do, she would not be unreasonable if she wanted to shame you. She saw it all. But she was sorry for coming here with Volstagg and the rest. I think you might at least be grateful for that. She said she had not been thinking properly."

"From what I have seen, most Midgardians have that problem."

Thor shook his head. "She is impulsive, that much I have seen and know to be true." He paused. "She has high spirits and…a curious mind. I thought to grow weary of showing her our realm, but I was determined to be a proper host. I confess, I enjoyed it, and she seemed to appreciate it." He chuckled. "If you could have seen Fandral when he met her. He has always been such a fool with maidens…"

He looked at Loki, hoping they could share at least a smile together. Instead, Loki looked back at him with what seemed to be only mild curiosity, almost as though Thor spoke in a language he did not comprehend, but found fascinating to hear. Seeing him, Thor realized how much he had been talking and erased his smile.

"Is something wrong?" Loki asked, his voice soft, coaxing.

"No," Thor said. "I only…I wanted you to know this about her."

Loki narrowed his eyes slightly. "Why does it matter?"

"There is so much hatred in you, Loki, that I cannot fathom its depths. I do not want you to hate her as well. She is…impulsive, yes…even thoughtless. But she means well, I believe. Herdis and Kadlin said she was very kind to them. So please, do not keep this offense against her."

Once again, Thor saw the tension in his brother's face relax somewhat.

"No," Loki said, "of course not. _That_…would be petty."


	9. I Know My Call Despite My Faults

"What are you doing here?" Clara asked.

"Thinking about buying real estate in Brooklyn," Tony Stark said, stepping over the threshold without being asked. He looked around. "Cozy."

"Seriously," Clara said. "What are you doing?"

Tony shuddered and asked, "Is there a window open? Aha." He pointed a finger at her. "_That's _where the chill is coming from."

She scowled at him silently until he chuckled and held up his hands, mimicking an act of surrender.

"All right, Miss McKenna, I'll be honest with you. I'm here to ask you to join the Avengers Initiative."

Her scowl fell away. "Really?"

"No," Tony said. "But I _am _here for S.H.I.E.L.D. They've heard some interesting things about what you've been up to, and wanted to talk to you about the possibility of a special arrangement. An offer you won't refuse, if they have anything to say about it."

"Are you _threatening _me?" Clara asked.

"Would I do that to you, Princess?" he asked innocently. "Just passing on a message."

She scoffed. "I'm surprised you'd do something S.H.I.E.L.D. demanded of you."

"Oh, I volunteered." He grinned, pausing to scratch his goatee. He could tell she was in suspense and seemed to enjoy her discomfort. "Shouldn't you offer your guest a drink? Did you learn nothing in a political family—where are your manners?"

Grumbling, Clara went into the kitchen and looked into the fridge. "We've got pineapple juice and Sam Adams. I wouldn't recommend mixing the two." She handed him a bottle of the beer at his request. "So you volunteered to come. What, you missed me?"

"I saw the pictures," he said. "Your blog? You've got a knack for that sort of thing. Can't say Nick Fury was too happy, though."

"Who's that?"

"Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. In charge of the Avengers—so he likes to believe. Anyway, he wasn't pleased to find his little 'soldiers' plastered across the Internet like that."

"You guys were all over the news!" Clara said, indignant. "Everybody saw you! You can't blame me for your exposure. Not initially, anyway."

Tony shrugged. After another sip of beer, he made a face and said, "Don't kill the messenger. I'm just saying, it was speculation until you offered an up-close account of Earth's mightiest heroes."

"But you agreed to it." She was growing annoyed at Tony and feeling more than a little betrayed.

"Sure did. Fury didn't, so he was…miffed. But Thor gave him an idea, and that's why I'm here."

Her eyes went wide before she could catch herself. "Thor talked to you?"

Tony gave her a side look, and she thought she could guess what he was thinking. She kept her mouth closed, slightly dreading what he was going to say.

"Came to Stark Tower yesterday," Tony said. "Wanted to tell me about an offer that _he _made to a certain tourist. I think he was hoping I'd add some persuasion. Or maybe he just wanted to be a pal and give a heads-up."

Clara rubbed her forehead and looked around to avoid making eye contact with Tony. She glanced at what remained of her ham sandwich and felt ill.

"But you turned down the job," Tony prompted.

"Yes, I did," Clara said. "I wasn't interested."

"Well, apparently S.H.I.E.L.D. is." Setting the beer bottle on the counter, he casually wandered around the apartment's tiny living area, observing the artwork on the wall and the dingy furniture. "Like I said, Fury's not happy about the added publicity, but since it's out there, he thought mighty Samson had a point. Might be a good way for a certain senator's daughter to help her country…and her planet."

Clara looked at him contemptuously. "I turned down Thor. Do you really think that S.H.I.E.L.D. is gonna convince me to do it when I said no to him?"

Tony turned to her, his eyebrows shoot upward. When Clara saw it, she closed her eyes and groaned.

"Don't…don't…take anything from that," she said, waving her hands at him.

"Miss McKenna," he said, leaning against the wall with his arms folded. "Is there something _else_ going on?" He squinted and tilted his chin. "Have you been playing with Thor's hammer?"

Clara rubbed her eyes, half-hoping this was a nightmare. She wasn't even sure if the warmth in her face came from embarrassment or pure annoyance. "You did _not_ just say that," she said.

"I did," Tony said. "And?"

"No!" she shouted at him. "Definitely _not._"

"If you say so," he said, with a tone that made her want to slam his head through a wall. "Just so we're clear, you're saying no to Nick Fury, no to S.H.I.E.L.D., _and_ no to Thor himself?"

"Yes, yes, and yes," Clara said. "We're clear."

"What's your problem, anyway?" Tony asked, again wandering around. She wondered if he just couldn't stand still. "A polite 'no thanks' is one thing, but this whole idea seems to piss you off."

She couldn't tell him everything she had told Thor, or even everything she had said to Odin.

"You may not believe this, _Mr. Stark_," she said, "but I'm not my father. I got enough political nonsense growing up, and it's just not the direction I want to take my life."

"Uh-huh," Tony said. He turned to peek through a partially open door. "This your room?" Before Clara could stop him, he nudged the door and looked in. "Now, I _really_ expected better from a trust fund baby."

When he stepped inside, Clara went nervously to the doorway, wondering whether she should kick him out, or if that would look too suspicious. She forgot about the ring on her nightstand—until the two of them saw it at the same time. She was too far away to grab it before he did.

"This…looks familiar," he said, tossing it into the air before holding it up. "I think I saw your boyfriend wearing one _just _like it." He looked at her, smirking. "Matching rings already? Cute."

"It's so I can go back to Asgard if I want…need…to," Clara said. "It's connected to the Tesseract somehow."

"Thought you had no intention of going back?"

"Not as a diplomat," she answered.

"So why would you go back otherwise?"

"I don't know," she mumbled, leaning with her head against the doorframe. "Would you just put it down and get out of here?"

"Not until I get the right answer," Tony said. "Don't want to make Fury…furious, you know."

"Like you care about _that,_" Clara said. "But if you insist, maybe I'll just call the cops and have you arrested for trespassing."

"Mmm-hmm, good luck with that," he said, plucking a photograph from the bulletin board above her desk. He looked at the picture—Clara and two friends on a trip to Paris—before tossing it onto the desk beside her computer. "And don't try to use Daddy as a threat. I already know you two aren't speaking."

Clara moaned painfully, feeling desperate. "Please, Tony," she said, trying to infuse her voice with as much sincerity as she could. "Tell S.H.I.E.L.D. anything you want, but I don't want to get pulled into this. Please just leave me alone."

They looked at each other for a few moments, Clara agitated and Tony vaguely intrigued. Finally he pursed his lips and nodded.

"Well, it was fun trying, at least," he said. "We must do this again sometime."

"Don't call us, we'll call you," Clara muttered.

When the door shut behind him, she thought, _I haven't seen the last of him._

* * *

Clara was tense for the rest of the day, wondering if S.H.I.E.L.D. was going to send a team of thugs to drag her away, or—even worse—if Tony Stark was going to come back. Fortunately, neither happened.

What did occur, however, was that the comments on her photos continued to build up in her inbox. She got several emails from other bloggers asking for guest posts, and even a few interviews. Calls and texts overwhelmed her poor phone: friends and relatives asking about her photos, the alien attacks, and her brief disappearance. She ignored them and instead focused on editing the photos for her first post about Asgard.

As she worked, however, she began to dread the response. Disregarding how her readers would react, what would S.H.I.E.L.D. say about her trip? She did not know much about the organization, and she definitely did not know Nick Fury, but Tony's vague remarks, coupled with her past experience with government security, already scared her. She started to wonder if refusal to cooperate would end with her waking up in a cell in Guantanamo.

But then she would pull up another photo, and feel a tug in her heart.

Once again, she stayed up far too late, switching back and forth between editing photos and drafting her next blog post. It was incredibly difficult to describe even a tiny part of what Asgard had evoked within her. She described Odin and Frigga briefly and carefully, not knowing if Their Highnesses could find out what she said. She had even more trouble thinking of what to say about Thor. Blog comments were as…complimentary about him as they had been about the other Avengers. At first she laughed, but now she did not want to encourage any more.

Choosing the right photos among the hundreds was even more difficult. She was torn between an innate desire to talk about the things she had seen and done, and a jealousy that wanted to keep them for herself. She felt a stabbing pain in her gut when she found her one shot of Loki in prison. She scrolled hurriedly past it, but then looked back. It was there, in his eyes—the hatred, confusion, and, yes, pain. What kind, she did not know, for what kind of pain would drive a person to do what he had done? Her finger hovering over her keyboard, she stared at the photo. _He is kind of beautiful—in a really creepy way, _she thought. With a shiver, she finally clicked over to a different image.

She settled on a few landscapes, a couple shots of the palace interior, and some action shots from Fandral's practice and the festivities. Once she had decided on these, she wondered if she really _could_ stretch this out into a week-long series. Ten photos—ten photos only would her soul part with. She could not share everything, somehow fearing how much of herself would go with it. But they could not get the wrong impression of Asgard; she would not allow it.

_You were there a few days, you moron, _came into her mind. _You were in Paris for a week and didn't feel this attached to it. You spent a whole summer in Italy in high school, and even then you were still glad to come home._

_I didn't kiss anyone in Italy, _she thought.

_Get over yourself._

She looked out the window. The sky was growing light, and her clock declared it nearly 7am.

* * *

"What was this _'upstate' crap_ you told me?" her mother shrieked at her.

Clara covered the phone with her hand. "Could you get me an almond biscotti too?" she whispered to Safia. Her roommate nodded and headed to the cashier. "So you believe me now?" she asked her mom.

"I don't know if I _should_, you already lied to me about where you went."

"I'm sorry, Mom. I don't know why I did that. I guess I wasn't ready to talk about it…or something."

"You talked about it enough on your blog, it looks like," her mother said bitterly. "Honey, did you _really_ go to Pandora, or were you just in the hospital…or in a mental institution?"

"I was in Asgard. Pandora is from _Avatar_." She lowered her voice when a table of three college-age guys turned to look at her curiously. "Where did you even get that?"

"Oh, I don't know," Mrs. McKenna said. "I guess there is a _lot _that I don't know, like when my daughter travels to another planet with a perfect stranger. _There's_ a sentence I never expected to say. I told your nanny you were too young to watch _Doctor Who _that day. And look what happened!"

"Mom, I can promise you that my watching a few episodes of _Doctor Who _when I was a kid had nothing to do with my decision to go to Asgard." Clara accidentally made eye contact with one of the guys, and she shifted in her seat to turn her back to them. "I think I'm gonna have to call you back."

"No, _no!_" her mother shouted. "You are _not_ hanging up on me. I want to know what the _hell _you were thinking!"

"I was thinking about my blog," Clara said. "I was thinking I wanted to get out of the city for a while and see someplace new. No different from any other travel decision I've made." _At least, it didn't start out that way, _she added silently. "I was thinking these people just saved New York, and I got to meet them, and it was a one-time opportunity. Did you see that link I posted today? This guy has a sci-fi blog and we've been following each other for a while, so he wanted to interview me. So…that was something else, too. Website traffic, ad revenue, you know…"

In spite of the clatter of forks and cups, the ambient music, and the conversation of the employees and patrons at the coffee shop, Clara still heard her mother's scoff on the other end of the connection.

"I'm sure it has _nothing _to do with how cute he was," Mrs. McKenna said.

"I plead the fifth on that one," Clara said.

Her mother paused before asking, "You're not going to tell me anything that isn't already on your blog, are you?"

"Not on my phone in a public place."

"Fine. But this isn't over, missy."

Clara sighed and hung up. She only got a few seconds of peace, however, before she felt someone staring at her. She turned and saw one of the guys at the next table leaning over his seat toward her, grinning. Just over a week ago, she would have thought he was incredibly cute, but today his untidy blonde hair and the blue eyes behind a pair of rectangular frames only reminded her of someone else.

"Hey, are you the girl who met the Avengers?" he asked. "The one with the blog?"

She could have lied to them, too, but they probably already heard everything she had said to her mother. Instead, she nodded, wishing that the barista would hurry up with her latte.

"So that's all real?" he asked. "They weren't just some dudes in costumes?"

"No," she said. "You recognized Tony Stark, right—Iron Man? He just…got some friends to help him out." She inwardly rolled her eyes at her own remarks.

"_Awesome_," another guy, lanky with reddish-brown curls, said. He turned to the third boy, a stocky fellow with clever, dark eyes. "I _told _you it wasn't fake!"

Safia came back to the table with two pieces of biscotti and their beverages. Clara thanked her vaguely. She tried to hide her offense when she asked, "Didn't you see the pictures of Asgard? Did you think those were fake, too?"

"Hey," the dark-eyed guy said, "I'm majoring in graphic design. You'd be surprised what kind of crap you can pull with Photoshop."

"Oh, I know it," Clara said. "But trust me when I say that I was just using it for cropping and fixing the lighting. I couldn't make this 'crap' up."

"And Clara _wouldn't_ make it up," Safia said. "She is very honest." Clara returned her smile with one of gratitude, even as she thought her roommate might be slightly mistaken.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" the first guy said. "I'm a broadcasting major—name's Tyler Sawicki—and I'm doing an internship at this radio station. I think they'd love to interview you. As far as I know, you're the only person who's got details on the Avengers. They just kinda disappeared, except Stark. One of the morning DJs was talking about your blog, too, and I think he'd just lose it if we could get you into the studio. I don't know if he saw your post with the pictures of Asgard yet."

_Is this how it's gonna be? _Clara thought.

"I dunno," she said, grimacing. "I'm really no good with that kind of thing. I'm just a photographer."

Thor's words echoed in her head, coming so suddenly that it caught her breath for a moment.

_If they react strongly to your reports, if they want to know more, if it captures their attention—then, perhaps, reconsider._

Clara looked at Safia, who cocked her head and shrugged, with a knowing expression. She sighed again. "Fine." She reached into her bag for a business card and held it out.

Tyler grinned and reached for it. The curly-haired guy watched them exchange the piece of paper, then jerked his chin toward Clara's hand.

"Cool ring," he said.

* * *

Two days later, Clara discovered that the intern had given her the wrong impression about the DJ. She emerged from the interview a little shaken, taken aback by his skepticism. He believed the photos were really the Avengers, but "Morning Meathead Monty" required much more convincing to believe the pictures of Asgard were really what Clara claimed they were. Even when he finally came around, he was not convinced that all other Asgardians were completely peaceful in their attitude toward Earth.

_Too many movies about hostile aliens, _Clara thought. But judging by the reactions she'd gotten from other people, both online and face-to-face, his was not an uncommon opinion. Turns out, Thor knew what he was talking about—the Asgardians did need an ambassador. Loki's plot had inflicted a lot more than just physical damage.

_I hope they find someone for the job, _Clara thought.

"Hey, sorry he kinda gave you a hard time in there," Tyler said on her way out of the studio. "I guess I'm so used to it, I forgot to give you enough warning."

"It's fine," Clara said. "It was definitely…an experience. I'm just glad it's over now and I can go back to hiding behind my computer," she added with a laugh.

Even hiding, however, was no longer an option. She had fallen behind in trying to keep up with the emails flooding her inbox. Her phone hardly stopped buzzing with texts and calls. Finally she turned off her phone and sat down at her desk, earbuds in her ears and a sandwich in one hand, ready to tackle some more photo editing. She pulled up the first photo from those she had yet to edit. The hand holding her sandwich dropped to her lap; the music flowing into her head went unheard.

It was a picture she had taken of Thor at the banquet. He was standing with Volstagg, laughing at something he had said. Volstagg was gesturing with a dagger in one hand and a goblet in the other. Clara could not remember what the warriors had been saying to each other. Volstagg's cheeks and nose were bright red with wine; Thor's face carried the fainter flush of simple good cheer. His golden hair caught the daylight, his smile flashed a brilliant white, and his eyes held a warmth that she knew she had caught for just the right moment. Clara thought he was attractive from the start, of course, but he had never been more gorgeous—or more human—than he was in that one photograph.

_I want to go back_, she thought. She closed her eyes, struggling to breathe normally as she felt that too-familiar burning in the back of her throat. _I don't want to be _here.

She slammed her computer shut and resentfully munched on her sandwich. When she swallowed the last bite, she turned her phone back on. She had a voicemail from yet another missed call.

"_Hi, I'm calling for Clara McKenna. Ms. McKenna, this is Vicki Roman with _The Today Show_. I'd like to talk to you about appearing on an upcoming episode, if you're interested. Please give me a call_…"

Clara was too stunned by the voicemail to think about writing down the number. When the message had played in full, she stared at the phone in shock, as though the device itself was responsible. The hand holding it shook, and for a minute she was afraid the sandwich would come right back up again.

This was bigger than a few blog posts and a radio interview. This was beyond anything she could have conceived of when she walked into that blown-out shawarma restaurant. Her eyes still on her phone, she wondered if she would have changed anything, had she known what was coming, had she been able to see the outcomes of from her decisions, of the hasty request that had given Thor an idea: an idea that seemed to be coming true, whether she wanted it to or not.

_Could it be worth it? _she thought for the thousandth time._ I don't think I'd do just _anything_ for him, but maybe I can do this. Besides, I started it—maybe I'm the only one who can finish it._

One thing she knew for sure: She couldn't do this alone.

She did not pack a bag. Clara did not even look in a mirror before she grabbed the ring from her bedside table and jammed it onto her finger. She turned the stone with a faint _click_, and instantly her surroundings dissolved. She clenched her eyes shut, prepared for a rush of changing sensations as she was transported between the realms. Not until her feet were again on solid floor did she remember that this was the first time she had made that trip without Thor beside her.

In a glance, she saw that she was just inside the palace foyer. Fantastic—she actually knew where to go. She chose the direction and ran, her footsteps clanging against the shining metal, glass, and stone of the corridors. She thought she saw Sif as she ran past, but Clara did not stop. Panting heavily, she came upon a set of golden doors flanked by guards. She recognized one as the soldier caught snoozing outside of Loki's cell. He looked at her fearfully, then nodded to his partner. In a moment, the doors were opened, and she was striding across the vast chamber toward the throne of Odin.

The king was conversing with a man in a blue robe similar to the ones that the magic-users wore. Aside from more guards and a few courtiers she did not recognize, there was no one else there, not even Thor. They ceased their conversation as she drew near. Heart pounding, Clara stopped at the bottom of the sweeping steps that led up to the elaborate throne. With a nod from his king, the robed man drew back. When Odin stood, she took a step backwards and almost lost her nerve. He glared at her, aggravated by the interruption and curious as to the reason.

"What have you to say, Lady of Midgard?" he asked, his voice resounding.

Looking up at him, Clara took a deep breath. The words caught in her throat, and she had to start over.

"I'll do it," she finally said.


	10. Forget the Task, Enjoy the Ride

**A/N: Well. It's taken me longer than usual to upload this, and I apologize. I recently experienced a complete loss of interest and inspiration in my writing—_not _your standard writer's block. It has been traumatic. Now, I _could _have posted this chapter sooner, because it's been done since I posted chapter 9. However, I like to have two complete chapters before I post one of them. That's just the way I roll. Unfortunately, it might still be a while before chapter 11 goes up, because I don't feel like I'm really back up to my usual quality of work, and I'd rather take ages to put up something I'm 100% satisfied with than churn out crap just for the sake of a faster update. Right. Ahem. Hopefully you are all still interested in this. Carry on.**

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"And in return?" Odin asked.

"What?"

"You were to name your terms. I did not expect you to accept the position for nothing."

Clara tried to think quickly. She _might_ have done it for nothing, she realized—but since he asked…

"I want my freedom," she said. "To have complete control over the content of my blog and my entire online presence and social networking…" As she spoke, Odin's frown deepened, and she realized she was speaking another language. She tried again.

"I want the freedom to say what I choose about this place, and the people in it," she said. "I want your _trust _that what I say will be true and beneficial. I will speak from my perspective, with terms and methods that my…people will understand. I'm not just gonna say whatever you want me to say. The words have to be mine, from my experiences, if you want people to know what Asgard is like."

"Of course," Odin said. "Surely you realize that we must be able to make…suggestions. And to know for sure how you portray this realm, and how you conduct your dealings with us."

An idea came to her head so suddenly that Clara almost laughed aloud.

She kept her expression sober, her voice even, as she said, "Then have Thor work with me. I trust him. Obviously _you'd _trust him to tell you the truth about what I say. Eventually I might need a personal assistant, but I can save that for Earth. Here, I could just work with someone within the royal family."

She had no idea how she would go about finding a personal assistant when she got back to Earth, but she would jump off that cliff when she came to it. She doubted even Odin Allfather had the resources to make such arrangements in another realm. Perhaps someone who worked with her father could help out with such details.

"Is that all?" There was more than a hint of sarcasm in Odin's voice.

She paused to consider what else she might ask for. "My own quarters, like when I was just a guest. A place for my own privacy and reflection, where I can stay when I'm in Asgard. And I will be free to come and go as I please between the realms. _That_ I will insist on."

Odin stared her down. Clara wondered if he was deliberately trying to intimidate her, or if it was just a side effect.

"Very well," he said. "We shall discuss this further, with Thor, when he returns."

Clara opened her mouth to ask where he was, but she decided not to press her luck. Instead, she gave Odin a clumsy little curtsey and left the chamber.

Thor could have been anywhere—and not necessarily in Asgard—but Clara was impatient to tell him about her decision, even if the idea of doing so made her almost more nervous than standing before Odin. She looked in a few rooms she thought he would be, realizing that she never _did _learn where his chambers were.

_Apparently Loki could tell me_, she thought, feeling a little sickened by the reminder.

She wandered outside of the palace toward the warriors' field. Two men there sparred with swords. They both wore helmets, but she recognized Thor almost immediately.

She stopped at a distance to watch, both to admire and to avoid startling them into seriously injuring each other. What she saw made her even more nervous. Thor seemed to be in a bad temper, judging by the way he swung the weapon. It did not seem like the good-natured play she had observed in Asgard's other athletic exercises. His grunts and shouts as he attempted to disarm his opponent were barbaric, a brutal reminder of the old myths Clara had read about in her college classes.

Thor swung the sword too widely, and his opponent brought his own sword up, clanging it against Thor's armor before he could recover in time to block it. Clara gasped, but there was no harm done to either fighter.

"ENOUGH!" Thor bellowed, tearing off his helmet.

Clara took it as an indication to approach. Thor was already stomping away from his partner, but when he looked up from the ground and saw her, he stopped. Clara hoped it wasn't just her imagination that made her think she saw some of the irritability fade from his face. Suddenly feeling shy, she smiled and gave a little wave as she kept moving toward him.

"I saw you guys fighting, so I figured I'd wait," she said, finally standing in front of him. "Hope I didn't interrupt your practice."

"It was nothing," he said, making a vague gesture with the hand still carrying his helmet. "You look…well."

He was probably just being polite, given that she had put no thought into her appearance before coming, but it pleased her to hear him say it—probably more than it should have. "Thanks. Well, I _was_," she said with a little chuckle, looking down at her shoes. "Now I'm nervous. I was just speaking to Odin, and I…I accepted the offer."

She turned her face back up toward his. He smiled, his teeth brilliant against a complexion ruddy from exercise. For one second, she caught a flash of delight in his eyes. It happened so fast that she wondered if she imagined it, but then she remembered that photograph. Here was another moment she wished she could have frozen, to keep for all time.

"I am glad to hear it," he said.

"The lady Clara!" came a familiar and completely unwelcome voice.

Looking past Thor, Clara saw Fandral approaching them. She stifled a groan and instead plastered a smile on her face. She had not recognized Thor's swordfighting partner until he removed his helmet.

"Hi, Fandral," she said.

"Well, this is a pleasant surprise," the warrior said, grinning. "I thought you were lost to us forever!"

"Guess not," Clara mumbled.

"Will you be staying with us a little longer this time?"

"That's the idea," she said, trying to catch Thor's eye. Instead, he was looking at his friend as though he was not completely sure what to do with him.

"Fandral, would you excuse us?" Thor asked. "Now that Clara has returned, we have business to discuss."

"Business, eh?" Fandral said. "Well then, I shan't bother you further." He gave Clara an exaggerated bow and strode off the field.

Clara looked in Thor's face for the expression she had caught earlier, but the moment was gone. He made a motion toward the palace, prompting her to walk toward it at his side.

"What changed your mind?" he asked.

Even when he spoke softly, his deep voice reverberated in her chest like a bass drum.

"A lot of stuff. For one thing, your idea was good. A lot of people have been reading my blog. They like all the pictures of the Avengers. Some of them don't really believe Asgard is real, but I guess I can't do much more about that than what I have already. Everyone wants to know more about you guys, but so many people didn't believe me. I mean, about the Asgardians being peaceful toward Earth. Some of them do think Loki was acting on your behalf. I figured…if someone was gonna tell them the truth…it really might as well be me."

They walked in silence for a little while. Clara became painfully aware of how impetuously she had traveled. She didn't have anything—not even her camera this time—and would have to go back to New York before she could even think of staying here overnight. Before she could bring it up, Thor spoke again.

"Whatever it was that made you decide," he said, "I am pleased that you did."

She wondered if she should tell him about Tony's visit the other day, but she decided against it, at least for now. There was already too much to think about, to worry about. Everything Clara wanted to tell him, all the feelings of the past few days she wanted to give voice to, swirled around in her head. She could not make them coherent, and the harder she tried, the worse it became.

Finally she just said, "I talked to Odin first, just before I came out here. I think he wants to discuss the whole arrangement with you, too."

"Well, then," Thor said, "we must see that these things are settled properly."

When Odin had finished discussing other matters of the realm with advisors and courtiers, he and Thor and Clara sat together to finalize the details of her position as ambassador of Asgard. Odin agreed to provide Clara with permanent quarters in the palace, as well as her other daily needs, including meals and clothing more suitable for a member of the Asgardian court. Clara reserved all rights of movement between the realms, coming and going as she wished. In return, she promised to make Asgard a priority if they urgently requested her presence. She also retained the right to speak freely when on Earth. She would allow Thor to report what she was saying back to Odin, if he felt it was necessary, and to make suggestions for her blog posts and interviews. She would need some kind of staff to help her on Earth, and even though Clara had no idea how to go about hiring assistants, she conceded to do it herself. Fortunately, Odin agreed that she could hire them in exchange for Asgardian gold and other treasure.

Clara thought of her college history classes and more old-fashioned methods of forming political alliances. She pressed her lips tightly together to keep from laughing at the notion of Odin giving her his son in marriage. _Might make things a little easier_, she thought slyly.

"Even if Thor decides that a detail here and there is too inconsequential to report," Odin said, "Heimdall will see, and he will be able to tell if I am not hearing everything I ought to know."

His one good eye locked with Clara's, and she felt a warning prickle at the back of her neck.

_Well, crap, _she said to herself, thinking of her "parting gift" at Central Park. Her eyes widened with alarm before she could prevent it. _Yeah, I've got a hell of a lot to learn about this job_.

Finally, the arrangements finalized and witnessed by several other courtiers, Odin dismissed them so he could see to other matters. Outside of the throne room with Thor, Clara felt a burst of panic. It was not unlike the moment of awareness when she first arrived in Asgard, finally fathoming the enormity of what was happening.

"Thor," she said breathlessly.

"Yes?"

"There's something I didn't tell Odin. He could probably tell, but i-it's…I'm kind of scared. Well…more like…completely terrified."

She was more than a little embarrassed to be saying this to a prince and a great fighter—surely Thor had seen his share of violence and long ago squashed any hint of fear within him. She thought it needed to be said, all the same. For some reason, she half-expected him to chuckle at her confession.

He only said, "What is it that frightens you?"

"I just…I still don't know the first thing about being an ambassador. It was never something I expected to do…to happen to me."

"You are clever," Thor said. "You will learn it well enough." He smiled. "But before too long, I hope."

"Yeah," she said. Her insides felt like they were made of lead. An idea came to her that scared her more than anything else. "I think I might know where to start, at least."

"What do you mean?" Thor asked, sounding a little concerned.

She scrunched up her face a moment before she looked in his eyes and said, "I'm going to talk to your brother."


	11. Spare Me Your Dreams

**A/N: Dear readers, I broke my own rule: posting chapter 11 before I have chapter 12 done. Why? Because some of my writing inspiration has returned to me and I'm too excited to wait. Also, I sprained my foot due to a series of misadventures this weekend and I've re-edited this chapter a million times until I can't do anything but post it. I have been so encouraged by the reviews I've gotten on this fic so far, you don't even know. And even if you read it without reviewing (I know you're out there!), I'm still encouraged.  
**

**Vaguely related self-promotion: If you haven't seen my profile, you may not know that I have a novel, _Radicals & Royalists_, on Amazon (in paperback and Kindle). It's set in 18th century England, so it's a far cry from Avengers fanfic. But if drama, romance, war, and social history in 1793 sounds at all interesting, I'd be honored if you took a peek at it. This goes for _both _men and women—in the past week I have had two gentlemen tell me they loved it. Plus, if you read it, you'll find that 1700s British naval officers apparently talk a lot like Asgardians. Who knew.**

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Thor looked as though her head just fell off her shoulders. "I believe that is a most unwise decision."

"This entire situation is all his fault," Clara said, trying to sound braver than she felt. "And if I'm going to try to sway the opinion of a whole city—of a whole _planet_—I should find out all I can about the reason why. I've got the source right here—might as well use him."

"Then I must come with you."

Clara remembered the things Loki had said to her before, as well as Tony's little jokes. With that in mind, standing _with _Thor, in front of Loki, was the last thing she wanted. "I better do this alone," she said. "Maybe you could show me to his cell, and I'll take it from there."

Thor's doubtful eyes would not leave her face.

"I told you I'm terrified," she said. "But if I can deal with Loki from day one, I think nothing else would scare me _quite _so much. Besides…I kind of want to apologize for that day…you know."

His eyes narrowed slightly. Clara waited for a response, not knowing what he was thinking. Was he trying to see how much fear was really in her heart? Was he thinking her a fool? Did he think she only wanted to harass his brother again?

"What exactly do you intend to do?" he asked.

"Practice," she said. "Maybe well enough that I can get something useful out of him."

"Loki and I were raised together, and concealed nothing from each other in our youth. Now he rarely speaks, even to me. I do not mean to doubt your abilities, but if I can no longer draw useful information from him, it may be best if you 'practice' elsewhere."

"I guess you're right," Clara said. She sighed, remembering the last voicemail she received. She couldn't say for sure that an interview on _The Today Show _would be less traumatic than a conversation with Loki. She rubbed her eyes and then shook her head.

"No," she said. "No, Thor, please, let me try this. Before I lose my nerve. I mean, if it doesn't work out…what's he gonna do? Considering where he is now."

Thor finally agreed, but was obviously still skeptical when he led her to the now-familiar stone corridor. He nodded to the two guards standing at the entrance to the passage to Loki's cell. When Clara stepped forward to pass them, Thor gently took her arm and kept her back.

"Be patient with him," he said. "Do not try to humble him. Do not let your anger loose, as much as you may want to."

She nodded, wondering how often Thor had to remind himself of this.

"I will not leave before you do," he added, releasing her.

She took a deep breath and walked down the dark hallway. The distance between her and Thor lengthened, but she could still hear the rumble of his voice as he spoke in low tones with the guards. She looked down and noticed the ring; she quickly twisted it from her finger and stuck it in her pocket.

Finally she reached Loki's cell, again reminded of _Silence of the Lambs_. He was, as usual, sitting on the bench, head down. He looked up at the sound of her quiet footsteps as she came to stand before his window.

His cuts and bruises had healed, leaving smooth, pale skin set over finely sculpted features. After an initial glance, he kept his eyes off of her, perhaps to demonstrate her unworthiness. She could still see the fire in his venomous green eyes, one that imprisonment and a loss of power had not been able to douse. She could hardly imagine what was going on behind them, now that he had an eternity to brood—what hateful plots, ill wishes, and lurking mischief?

Clara felt at a loss for words. Finally, she just said, "Good afternoon."

She watched his face intently, looking for the smallest flinch of muscle, the barest change in breath that would tell her what he was thinking. But his face was a mask, and the only sounds she could hear were the distant voices of Thor and the guards.

"How are you?" she asked. That, at least, prompted a reaction: Loki closed his eyes as though in pain that she dared to address him. Clara was starting to get peeved, stimulating her courage.

"You know, when someone asks you a question, it's polite to respond _some_how."

Though he was unmoved by the remark, he finally spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I suppose it is polite for uninvited visitors to ask unwelcome questions?"

_Oh, yeah, this is starting out _really _well, _Clara thought.

"I know you don't want me here," she said, "but I also know you've got nothing else to do. You might as well talk to me."

He shifted his weight, and she froze. He stood to his feet. Clara fought quietly to keep her face blank, once more reminded of animals at the zoo. Her muscles tensed in fear at seeing him at his full height, even knowing she was out of harm's way. She thought of a tiger yawning, showing off a set of deadly fangs, reminding onlookers that only a few metal bars kept them from having their throats ripped out.

Instead of showing his fangs, Loki just paced slowly, restlessly, across the cell a few times. Still he did not look directly at her.

She picked up the conversation again. "I wanted to tell you that I'm really sorry about what happened last time. I-I tend to get carried away with my camera, and I was already pretty drunk. I'm not _usually_, but, the stuff you've got on Asgard is crazy strong. I wasn't expecting that, and I got…stupid. But it was rude and…cruel and…and I'm sorry."

Part of her was indignant about apologizing to someone who wrecked her city, launched an alien invasion, and tried to subjugate her planet. Yet it might get him to talk to her. She waited.

At last, something came of it.

"Why should you feel the need to apologize to me?" Loki asked, looking into the distance—at least, as far as he could into the narrow hallway.

"Because I regret…my actions?" Clara offered. "I could tell it—"

_It what? Hurt his feelings? Like I wouldn't let him take his turn on the swings at recess? Like he really cares what I think about him?_

"I just…I didn't mean it."

"I care not for your motivations, mortal," he said. "Whatever choices you make in your pitiful little existence are no concern of mine."

"Is that so?" Clara asked, her anger growing even more. "What about my _choice _to help your brother try to fix some of the damage you did to my city? That might be a concern of yours."

She saw a flicker of bewilderment pass over Loki's face; Clara did not wait for him to speak before she continued.

"Though I guess you wouldn't be _concerned _about that, since you didn't really give a shit about my people in the first place, did you."

He looked at her then, and she instinctively took a step back. Somehow she had forgotten how unsettling it was to meet those eyes directly. One photo hardly did them justice.

"Tell me," he said. His gaze was attentive, his tone—and the faint smirk about his lips—mocking.

"I don't know if Thor said anything about it to you, but I took a job that Odin offered me," she said, not sure what compelled her to share this with him. "One that involves trying to undo what you did to us."

"Is that so," Loki said, moving to sit down at his bench again.

She hardened her tone. "I'm supposed to let the people of Earth know that not everyone in Asgard is as insane as you. Before I started, though, I thought I'd offer you a chance to make peace."

"You speak on behalf of an entire realm?" he asked. His smirk transformed into a full smile. "That is most ambitious of you, mortal."

Again, Clara tried to hide any facial expression. Yet a thought came to her mind—unbidden and unsettling—that wondered what it would be like to see him smiling genuinely at her. A smile not of contempt, but warm—pleased by what he saw.

"Not the entire realm," she murmured, trying to ignore her odd ideas. "Not yet, anyway. I meant just…you and me."

He looked down at his hands, fidgeting with his fingers a little. "You call me a madman," he said softly, "and yet you wish to make peace with me?"

She scoffed a little, more at herself than at Loki. "Well, when you put it like _that_…" Her words faded out. She meant to sound flippant, but could not bring herself to be so. "If my 'pitiful little existence' really is of no concern to you, then we might as well be…"

_Be what? Friends? Hell, no. Courteous? Not likely._

"…civilized."

He looked up at her again, his green eyes blazing, his smile gone. Instead, his lips curled in disgust, and she saw the rhythm of his chest alter with his faster breathing. The change happened so quickly that she could not hide her terror. She took several steps back this time.

"What do you Midgardians know of _civilized?_" he asked. "What do you consider civilized? Cries for peace while you slaughter others without compunction? Bowing and scraping to one a mere step above you as you crush others beneath your thumb? A small group of killers and thieves, no better than the rest, leading a blind herd—all while _claiming_ to champion truth and equality? I have seen your civility, little Midgardian, and what great rewards it bestows upon you all, and I shall have _none of it!_"

When he fell quiet, his last rasping words still echoing in his chamber, Clara was trembling. She stepped back until she leaned against the wall, her eyes toward her feet. After a few moments, for reasons she could not fathom, she looked back up at Loki. His smile had returned.

"But do not worry," he said. "Your apology is accepted."

She stared at him incredulously, feeling both her heartbeat and her breathing slow down to a less harrowed pace. For the time being, any effort at diplomacy was shaken out of her.

"What…is your _problem?_" she finally asked.

He narrowed his eyes, considering her for a moment before responding. "I suppose your gallant hero never told you the truth about his…family."

Clara opened her mouth to say that whatever Thor told her, she was more likely to take his word over that of the one who tried to blow up her city. She changed her mind at the last minute.

"He told me you grew up together, both with a mind to be king. You were close when you were kids. You cared about each other…it seemed. He still wants peace between the two of you. I mean, he didn't _say _as much, but it was pretty obvious. I could tell."

"And you know him so well now, do you?"

She sighed. "No. That's how obvious it was."

"Hear this, mortal," Loki said, standing up again and stepping toward the magic barrier. "Do not pretend you are so familiar with Asgard and its _royal family_. You know _nothing_. So do not plague me with your wisdom and attempts at reconciliation. Rather, I suggest you leave this realm—at once."

"I don't think so," Clara said. "You may have wanted to rule over me and my people, but you failed at that, so you don't get to give me orders now. Besides, I have a job to do. I agreed to it."

"Ah, yes," he hissed. "The Allfather's little diplomat, here to make peace between the realms. I doubt this attempt will be any more successful than his last."

"His last?" Clara asked, suddenly worried. Was she more expendable than she thought?

Loki grinned. "He must have kept that particular detail from you."

"What are you talking about?"

He shifted his gaze into the distance again, his smile fading. "Be grateful _you _have a choice in the matter, Midgardian."

"What was Odin's last attempt?" she asked. "What do you mean, 'choice'? Did he try to _force _someone to do this job?"

He turned back to her, meeting her eyes this time. She wished he hadn't. The hatred she saw within him was profound, made even worse when combined with the dark sorrow she also noticed.

"Only a monster from…beyond," he said. "The mighty Allfather really should have seen it coming."

Clara still did not understand, and she was no longer sure she wanted to. She turned her face aside, feeling an almost physical sensation of ripping her gaze from him. Taking a deep breath through her nostrils, she peered down the long corridor.

"You'd better be going," Loki said. "He's waiting for you, you know."

She did not need to be told again. She walked away on shaky legs, but after a few steps, she forced them into a run. At the end of the hallway, she nearly crashed into Thor when he stepped into her path.

"Clara!" he gasped, catching her before she stumbled to the hard floor. "What happened?" His eyes were intense as he took in her bloodless face. "What did he do to you?"

"Nothing," she said, too afraid at the moment to discuss what Loki said. "Really, nothing."

"He did something," Thor said. "You are frightened."

Clara glanced around, finally remembering the presence of the guards and feeling embarrassed. "I'm fine," she said. "I'll be fine. I, um, I better go home."

Sure at last that Clara could stand steadily on her own, Thor straightened to his full height and squared his shoulders. His ferocious expression had not changed.

"I will speak to Loki," he said.

"No!" she gasped. "I…I think he needs…some time. He's…He doesn't seem to like me much, and I don't think your speaking to him would help his mood at all. No, I-I really need to go home."

Now Thor looked quizzical. "Back to Midgard?"

A wave of fear overcame her, and she shuddered. Why did Thor seem confused? Would he try to prevent her from going? What was the choice that Loki said she had that someone else hadn't?

"I'll be here again, today, I just need to pick up some of my stuff and, erm, run some errands." She stopped suddenly, wondering what had happened to the person—was it really a monster?—who had taken up the diplomatic position before her. "I mean…if I can…if you want me back."

"Certainly," Thor said. "We all reached a satisfactory agreement—you are free to come and go, and your quarters will be ready for you anytime you wish."

Clara felt herself relax a little when Thor said "free." She reminded herself that she had taken this position willingly, however inept she might be. They had let her go home before. Odin had agreed to her independence. Whatever had happened before, whatever Loki had been referring to, it was not something for her to worry about.

Still, she felt uneasy. "Thanks a lot," she said to Thor. "I have to go home and…" She closed her eyes, remembering what had prompted her to make a final decision at all. "I have to return a phone call. And figure some other stuff out."

An idea came to her mind. As unwelcome and exasperating as it seemed, it might be the best way to go about her new job.

"Think you could do me a favor?"

"What is it?" Thor asked.

"Come back to Midgard with me. I may need…some backup."


	12. The Today Show

**A/N: Hey everyone! I had a little trouble uploading the previous chapter (chapter 11), so if you didn't get a chapter alert for that one, and you haven't read it, make sure you get that done before reading this chapter 12. It is not to be missed. Neither is this chapter, actually—and I made it a longer one to make up for my lengthy absence. The "twist" at the end of this chapter (or whatever you want to call it...) was my friend Katie's idea-just giving credit where credit is due.**

* * *

Long before they returned to New York, Clara knew only one person could really help the situation in which she now found herself. Her father's cohorts and employees were unlikely to be of much use. She hated to admit it, but…she needed Tony Stark.

When she told Thor that she wanted to speak to the genius billionaire playboy philanthropist, she was not _entirely _sure what she had in mind. She certainly had not thought that Thor would use his hammer to fly them into the side of the building. Several burly workmen screamed and scattered when Thor burst through a plastic sheet stretched across a broken window. Thor landed hard, but upright. Clara let go of him and slammed onto the dusty floor, sliding forward a few feet like a human Swiffer.

She lay coughing for a moment before pushing herself to her feet. She looked around at the builders, all of whom stood terrified, holding their various tools like weapons. They must have been making repairs to the damage from Loki and the Chitauri battle. None of them seemed to know what to do in her and Thor's presence—although she had to admit that Thor was far more intimidating than she. Clara turned to the demigod, a little annoyed.

"Was this _really _the best idea?" she asked.

Thor looked around at the men, then raised a hand. "You have nothing to fear from us," he said. "We are friends with Metal Man."

"Wow," Clara said. Turning to the closest workman, she said, "Is Mr. Stark around?"

No answer. Every single one of them looked at her like she was crazy.

"Right, okay then," Clara said. "Erm…" She looked around and saw the hole Thor had punched in the plastic. Thor looked at her as though waiting for her to lead the way. "Well…Sorry about the window."

Glancing around the room, she saw a well-stocked bar to her left. She cast a longing eye over the decanters, wondering what kind of booze was inside.

"Look who it is," came a now-familiar voice.

Clara, Thor, and the construction workers looked up at Tony Stark. He stood in the doorway, several steps above them, wearing a blue suit and apparently coming from or going to a business meeting.

"Mr. Stark," Clara said. "I want to talk to you."

"You know how to make an entrance, big guy, I'll give you that," Tony said, addressing Thor as he sauntered down the steps. "Hope your girlfriend is all right." He looked at Clara for confirmation.

She stared back at him, saying nothing, eyes narrowed.

"Yes? No?" Tony prompted. "I'll take the hateful glare as a 'yes.'"

"Not his girlfriend," Clara mumbled, even though Tony had already turned away and probably hadn't heard her. He stepped toward Thor and seemed about to offer him a handshake before he thought better of it and clapped him on the arm instead.

"Back to work, fellas, sorry about the disturbance. Old friend dropped in."

"_Tony!_" Clara said. He turned toward her, brows slightly lifted, a contrast to the lazy droop of his eyelids and indifferent set of his mouth.

She hesitated, swallowed, and said, "I took the ambassador job."

His expression flickered, too fast for Clara to read. They silently watched each other for a moment, Tony assessing her somehow, Clara simply waiting anxiously for his response. Thor looked back and forth between the two of them.

"You know, this place has a great front door," Tony finally said. "You should try it next time."

"I—"

"Follow me," he interrupted, beckoning them with one hand as he went back toward the doorway. Clara and Thor glanced at each other before silently tagging along.

They came to another large, curved room, full of daylight from a wall of glass windows, none of them damaged. Several pieces of modern furniture were arranged around an open fireplace. Tony waved them toward the seats. As Clara picked one, she couldn't help thinking that Stark Tower reminded her—just a little—of Odin's palace. While she and Thor sat down, Tony crossed the plush, white carpet to an old-fashioned drink cart. He didn't ask what they wanted, but brought back a tray with three tumblers full of ice and something clear.

"No need to tiptoe around the subject, McKenna," Tony said. "Might as well come right out and tell me what you want."

She took the glass, but didn't drink.

"I…I think I made the right decision," she said. "Taking the job, I mean. But I still don't know what the hell I'm doing."

"Obvious," Tony said, taking a sip from his glass.

"I want to help Asgard, and you guys—the Avengers, I mean—and make people understand who's on our side and all. But I never wanted a political job. I told you that before—I'm not trained for it. I don't have connections. I don't know the first thing about media coverage, or getting it, or what to _do _once I've got it. I'm really good at taking pictures and writing blogs and hiding behind a computer screen, but apparently that's not enough." She cast a side glance at Thor. "I mean, not enough to do what I agreed to do."

"Seems like a great opportunity to enlist Daddy's help."

"That's not an option."

"Why not?"

"Trust me, it's not."

"What do you expect me to do?"

"I don't know!" she said, raking a hand through her hair. This had been a very, _very _long day. "You're a celebrity. How do you handle it? I mean, I'm not a celebrity, but I need to talk to the right people, and I don't know how to start. But they're reading my blog, Tony. This morning I was on a little morning radio show because of some guy I met at a coffee shop. Then, a couple hours later, I got a call from _The Today Show_! How does that even _happen?_"

Tony threw back his head and laughed. Stunned, Clara looked at Thor, who appeared equally confused.

"Good old Vicki, I knew she'd come through," Tony said. "What did you say?"

"Wait…" Clara held up a hand, pausing in her words, her mouth hanging open for a silent moment. "Did you…did you arrange that?"

He shrugged. "Figured you could use a boost."

"But…I hadn't even agreed to the job yet when I saw you before," Clara said. "Why did you bother to arrange it? Did you really think I'd change my mind?"

Tony glanced at Thor with a slight smirk before saying, "Genius intuition." He downed the rest of his drink. "So, what did you tell Vicki?"

"I haven't called her back yet—today has been kind of a blur. Why didn't you _tell me _about _The Today Show_?"

"After the warm welcome I got at your apartment?" Tony asked. He held up a defensive hand to Thor, who had not yet said anything. "Don't worry, big fella, all with the most honorable intentions."

"And yet I have my doubts," Thor said.

"Hey, Thunderbucket, you were the one who wanted me to try to change her mind."

Clara turned to Thor, eyes wide with alarm. "Thor, is that true?"

"I asked no such thing," Thor said, also a bit unnerved. "I spoke to him when I first returned you from Asgard, before you agreed to become our ambassador, but it was not to ask him to persuade you."

"When he was over, he implied that's what you _wanted _him to do," Clara said. Thor looked at Tony with squinty eyes, but Tony cocked his head and looked unconvincingly innocent.

"It was my wish that he…be of service to you somehow, but not to coerce you in any way."

"Right," Tony said to Thor. To Clara, he said, "He was more afraid of what S.H.I.E.L.D. would try to do. And he was right."

"Oh, for…what is S.H.I.E.L.D. doing now?" Clara asked. "I still don't even know what they _are_, and I'm already sick of hearing about 'em."

"They're keeping an eye on the comings and goings of aliens like your buddy here," Tony said, "and Fury likes to think he's in charge of the Avengers. They can get pretty possessive and nosy when someone new tries to get in the sandbox with their playmates."

"You've hinted at that before, but I haven't heard anything from them," Clara said. "Not about my blog posts or my pictures or anything. Are you _sure _it's that big a deal?"

"Yeah, well…" Tony turned to glance out one of the windows. "Guess you got lucky there."

Clara frowned at him, even though Tony couldn't see her. Was there something else he wasn't telling her?

"So what do I do?" Clara asked.

"Call Vicki back. You need someone to hold your hand?"

"I've never been on TV before—that I know of, anyway—and I just…I could use some advice. What if this gets as big as Thor and Odin want it to be?" She emphasized her question with a gesture at Thor, who looked confused again. "He was talking about my giving speeches and meeting with heads of state. What if it does get to that point? Where do I go? Should I get a personal assistant? How do I do that?"

Once again, Tony eyed her for a while before answering.

"Tell you what, McKenna…You call Vicki and tell her you'll do a feature, but remotely—from here. You won't have to be in a studio, you'll be…well, not in the comfort of your own home, but this place is more comfortable than your own home anyway. Plus, you can tell her they might get Tony Stark, too. A two-for-one deal. I'd throw this guy into the mix"—he jerked a thumb at Thor—"but Fury might lose it and you won't be so lucky anymore."

"My obligations as prince of Asgard do not include mortal entertainment," Thor said. Clara was surprised at Thor's tone; the attitude behind his remark was reminiscent of his brother. In his friendly company, she had almost forgotten that Thor himself was genuine royalty.

"From what you've mentioned," she said to Tony, "it sounds like he'd lose it anyway over seeing me talk about Asgard and the Avengers on national television."

"We're not at that bridge yet, McKenna. Let the expert tell you when to jump."

Being on live television with Tony Stark struck her as a less-than-ideal situation. However, it seemed like her best option—definitely better than going on that show alone. And after all, Tony had experience with the media—wasn't that why she was asking for his help at all? She was involved now, and she wanted to do the job right, even if she regretted it.

With horror, she realized she had not settled any kind of plan with Odin for terminating the position, if it came to that. What might he do if she ever decided to quit? Thor would be all right with it, maybe, but she was not so sure she trusted Odin to let her go peacefully.

_Be grateful you have a choice in the matter, Midgardian, _Loki's words came back to her.

She glanced at Thor, wondering why he had spoken so little. He seemed uncomfortable in his chair as he listened to her and Tony banter about how to fulfill her new duties as ambassador. Clara took note of his furrowed brow and scrunched eyebrows, his frown, the sadness in his eyes. He had been so kind to her thus far—he would not be enraged if she decided to quit. He might not even try to pressure her back into it, but she knew he would be disappointed, though maybe not even as disappointed as she would be in herself.

Watching Thor was enough of a distraction that she momentarily forgot about Tony, the pressures of her new job, and the terror of an upcoming TV appearance. As she looked at him, she felt something soften inside of her, but at the same time, her resolve was renewed. She had been concentrating so hard on trying to do everything right, she had almost forgotten—again—what had driven her to the decision at all. She wanted to speak the truth, she wanted to be a friend to Asgard…and she wanted to be with Thor.

As though sensing her gaze, Thor turned his head and met her eyes. He smiled a little, and she felt her heart flutter in her chest. The smile she returned him was wide and sincere—until she turned away again and met Tony's smirk and flashing eyes.

* * *

Clara and Thor did not stick around Stark Tower too much longer, and Tony did not encourage them to do so. Proving himself a gentleman once again, Thor escorted Clara—through the air—to her apartment building. This time, at her insistence, he brought them to a landing on the pavement rather than on the roof or through her window.

For the moment, Tony's support had quelled her nervousness about _The Today Show._ Unfortunately, this left more room for a combination of giddy delight about Thor coming to her home and embarrassment at the state of her dingy apartment.

"These are your living quarters?" Thor asked, apparently unable to completely hide his surprise when they had climbed the last flight of steps.

"Yeah. Obviously it's not like your palace back in Asgard," Clara said, fumbling at the door locks. "But it does the job."

"And what is that?"

"Oh, you know—a place to sleep, eat, wash, erm…that kind of thing." She opened the door and stepped inside, letting Thor in before she closed the door behind them.

"I see," he said.

There were no other sounds in the apartment. Clara called for Safia, and felt her mouth go dry and her pulse slightly elevate when she heard no response.

"I think we're alone now," she caught herself saying. _There doesn't seem to be anyone around… _she finished in her mind. "I can give you a tour, if you want to see the rest of the place."

"All right, if you wish," Thor said.

It only took two minutes to show him the living area, kitchen area, the bathroom, a peek into Safia's room, and conclude in Clara's room. Thor seemed to take up half the space on his own; his head almost brushed the ceiling.

"There's my computer," she pointed out. "Where the magic happens. Well…Midgardian magic, as you called it." She smiled. "Want to see the blog?"

"Of course," Thor said, returning her smile, even if he did not know how computers or the Internet worked or what a blog even _was_.

He was immediately engrossed when she opened her computer and browser and scrolled through her posts of the past few days. He marveled over the images and laughed at the ones of Volstagg. She read a few of the descriptions out loud to him and showed him some of the comments readers had left—even one of the complimentary ones, which turned his cheeks pink and made him smile bashfully. When that was done, she showed him a few pictures from her computer folder that she had not yet posted, including the photo that finally drove her to change her mind about the job—though she didn't dare tell him that much. When she finally closed her computer, she looked out the window and saw that the sky was dark. At last, this long day was almost over.

"I guess if I'm gonna be on TV soon, there's no point in my going back to Asgard yet."

"Very well," Thor said. "I, however, must return. I have a matter to settle with my brother."

"It's not about me, is it?" Clara asked. "Because you don't have to talk to him on my behalf. He didn't frighten me that much…"

"Fear not, Clara," he said. "You may carry out your own duties, and I shall see to mine."

She wished that he did not have his own ring to go back to Asgard, so she might have an excuse to ask him to stay over. She felt her own face getting red at the idea.

She held up her hand, showing Thor that she still wore the blue ring. "I'll come back and tell you how it goes, and we'll figure things out from there."

"All right," he said.

He flinched a little in surprise when Clara quickly stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him for a hug, but he returned the gesture. His effortless strength made the embrace less than comfortable for her, but in those two seconds, she felt safe and content, pretending he felt the same way about her.

"I'll see you soon," she said.

"Yes, you shall," Thor said. Perhaps it was only her imagination, but his voice sounded a little more throaty than usual.

She stepped back and looked up at him._ Isn't he my coworker now? _she suddenly asked herself. _Well, crap…_

She realized Thor had the same expression he had worn at Stark Tower earlier—frowning, knitted brows, concern shadowing his eyes. He moved a millimeter toward her, then took a step back and stood straighter.

"As night has fallen, I should linger no more. I am sure you require rest for tomorrow."

"Thanks," she said, though her tone expressed anything but gratitude.

"I shall see you in a few days, Clara McKenna."

As she watched, he turned the stone in his own ring, and disappeared in a flash of blue light.

When he had gone, Clara flopped face-down into her bed and screamed into her pillow.

* * *

When Clara finally returned Vicki Roman's phone call, the woman was sweet and accommodating, and obviously thrilled at the possibility that Tony Stark might show up. Clara silently wondered if Vicki was just excited by his celebrity, or if she had been one of his many past flings.

Two days later, Clara was back at Stark Tower, surrounded by a small film crew and wondering if it was really much better than going into the studio. Meeting other celebrities was the least terrifying part of the deal. She had met several _Today _anchors before, back when her father was introducing a controversial bill and her family was still…a family. What made her feel ill was what she was going to say—and whatever came after—and that was the same fear, no matter where it took place.

Once the interview actually started, however, a strange calm settled over her.

"A lot of people have started following your blog since you posted your up-close-and-personal photos of the mysterious Avengers, and so soon after the attack on Manhattan," the anchor said. "How did you come to meet these superheroes, accomplishing what many government and law-enforcement officials have not managed to do?"

Clara explained how she was photographing the damage when she came across the shawarma restaurant, and recognized them—particularly Tony Stark—from the news footage.

"I really had no idea what I was walking into," she said, chuckling.

"Now, we also have shots here with some really amazing landscapes and architecture, and you explained in your blog that these were taken in a place called Asgard. What's on everyone's mind, of course, is whether this is an elaborate hoax, or you have somehow achieved personal space travel."

Plastering a smile on her face, Clara said, "Neither, actually. When I met Thor—he's the blonde guy in…well, the one who looks like a Norse god, because…that's what he is—I asked him if I could go to Asgard with him. He agreed, but I can't tell you how he managed it, except to say that there is such a thing as magic, apparently."

"And you insist that these photos have not been doctored in any way?" the anchor asked.

"Nope," she said. "I mean, I cropped some, and adjusted the contrast or the exposure, stuff like that, but that's something every photographer does. I'm not a graphic designer—I didn't use my pictures to create a fake world. What you see in the photos on my blog is completely real, but I really wouldn't blame anyone for thinking it was fake. I couldn't work my camera half the time I was there simply because I was too busy gaping at everything."

"Obviously you'd have a much harder time convincing people of this if Manhattan hadn't witnessed an alien invasion less than two weeks ago."

Her pulse sped up a little. "Exactly, but keep in mind that had nothing to do with the Asgardians. The monsters that attacked us were from another place entirely."

"And yet we have some photos and video footage from passersby of what may have been the ringleader of the attack. Eyewitnesses have reported seeing Thor with the suspect shortly before disappearing from New York. Was that when you were with them?"

"Yes," Clara said hesitantly, not sure where this was going and certainly not liking it.

"So did you see the suspect up close? Did this Thor take him to Asgard with him when you went there?"

"Yes," she said again, getting even more nervous. "Loki did lead the whole thing, but—"

"So if the attack was not staged by Asgard, why was he taken there?"

"Well, Loki _was _originally from Asgard," Clara said, "but from what I've heard, he's kind of a rogue character, with his own objectives that have nothing to do with the other Asgardians."

"Sounds like that place could do a better job preventing crime and terrorism and keeping things under control," the anchor said. "Based on what you've seen, would you say that the people of Asgard pose a security threat to this planet?"

"No!" Clara said. "That's what I've been trying to say—"

"Scoot over, McKenna."

Clara looked up. She had never been so happy to see Tony Stark standing in front of her, and she doubted she would ever feel this way again. Smiling in relief, she moved her chair to the side a few inches. He stuck his face into the camera and gave the studio his well-known smile, lifting his half-full glass in a mock toast.

"Hey there," he said. "Tony Stark, Iron Man here. How's everybody in the studio, good? Fantastic. Listen, I couldn't help overhearing the conversation—since it's my place and all. What Ms. McKenna is trying to say is that what everyone saw was the effort of a lone psychopath bent on world domination. He was _kicked out _of Asgard, and it was only then that he drafted his own army of aliens to compensate for the fact that Daddy liked Thor best."

He sent Clara a glance that was heavy with meaning, but she was not entirely sure what that meaning was. She glared at him with ire, just in case.

"Mr. Stark," the anchor said, so obviously excited to see Tony that Clara wondered if he actually listened to anything Tony said. "Let me just say what a pleasure it is to have you joining us as well—"

"Yes, I know it is," Tony said. "In case it hasn't been made clear, I'm confirming everything this lady has said, even her little trip into space with a handsome stranger."

"All of this, of course, is an extraordinary revelation to humanity," the anchor said. "Ms. McKenna, we did not see any on your blog, but do you have photos of the criminal Loki?"

The smile vanished from her face before she even realized it. "No," she said. "Unfortunately, erm, none of them turned out, and I didn't bother to post them."

"Well, that's convenient," Tony said under his breath.

"Mr. Stark, did you also take this trip to Asgard? Has Stark Industries developed vehicles for personal space travel?"

"We haven't, and no, I did not go," Tony said. "Somehow it didn't have the same effect on Thor when I batted _my _eyelashes at him and asked for a free vacation."

The anchor only laughed, while Clara blushed crimson and stared daggers at Tony.

"You can't get to Asgard with spaceships anyway," Clara said. "I said it's magic, and I know it sounds crazy, but it's another realm, like…another dimension. He's got this blue device that they use to travel here from Asgard, and—"

Suddenly there was a deafening crackle of static, then a buzz, and the screen that showed the feed from the studio went black. At the same time, the camera crew's computers died with the sickening 'pop' of an unplanned power-down. The abrupt termination of the interview left a split-second of overwhelming silence before the crew flew into a panic trying to get them back online.

"What just happened?" Clara asked. In contrast to her wide-eyed expression and the crew's hysteria, Tony sat still, his expression calm but grim.

"That, Princess," he said, "was S.H.I.E.L.D."


	13. Behind the Scenes

**A/N: Woohoo! Things are picking up and going crazy. I have my writing energy back, so I'm very excited about this chapter. Although the most important thing I have to say about it is: Trust Me.**

**No, really—I know where this is going.**

* * *

"You think S.H.I.E.L.D. did this?" Clara asked, keeping her voice down as the TV crew scrambled to try to get their cameras and computers back online.

"I told you, they don't play well with others," Tony said, nonchalant.

"But how can I do my job if they pull crap like that?"

"That's something to figure out, isn't it?" He took a slow drink from his glass while she scoffed.

Twenty minutes later, the crew gave up. They were utterly unsuccessful at getting their equipment to work again, nor could they even figure out what exactly went wrong. The studio had long ago moved on to the next segment, so the crew decided there was nothing to do but pack up and leave. An embarrassed Clara sent out a Twitter update as she left Stark Tower, saying the interview was cut short "due to technical difficulties."

Her frustration made her ungrateful. Walking to the subway station, she thought that Tony could have _at least_ had a driver take her home. She sat on the train, fuming at Tony and his snide remarks, at S.H.I.E.L.D. for ruining her interview, and at herself for not handling it better. Suddenly it occurred to her that she should have paid better attention to her father's networking skills when she was younger. The notion did not help her mood.

"Clara!" Safia gasped when she entered the apartment. "I was watching it, and then _poof!_ What happened?"

Clara had never mentioned S.H.I.E.L.D. to her roommate. She just shrugged. "Computer issues, I guess."

"Ugh, that's too bad! But you looked great, at least, when I _did _see you. And you sounded okay. So what's Tony Stark like?"

"Obnoxious."

Safia laughed. "Yeah, probably, but he's pretty hot—for an older guy."

_You should see Captain America up close_, Clara thought, smirking to herself. She dropped her bag on the floor and flopped onto the couch next to her roommate, both of them facing the TV. "Safia, do you think I'm making all this up?"

"Why would I?" she asked. "We all saw the aliens on the news, and Manhattan is still a disaster area. It's insane, but what else could it have been? You've always been a pretty honest person—as much as anyone else, right? And you kinda keep to yourself, so it's not like you'd plan a big hoax just for attention."

"Thanks," Clara said. "…I think."

Safia chuckled. "I just mean that, somehow, the craziest idea makes the most sense. Hey!" She twisted in her seat and brought her feet up, hugging her knees to her chest. "Can I come with you the next time you go to Asgard?"

Clara shook her head. "Not after what happened to me since I asked that same question. Besides, I…" She searched for an excuse. "I wouldn't want to be rude to Odin. I don't think he'd want me having friends crash at his palace, even if I do get my own apartments there. It wasn't part of our agreement. It's like an intern letting her friends crash the White House."

Clara hadn't told Safia how she traveled between the realms, and she felt it was a secret she had to keep. Almost without thinking, she twisted the ring around her finger so that the stone faced inward toward her palm.

Someone rapped hard on the door. Clara groaned and pressed a throw pillow to her face, pretending to smother herself. She had come to dread any and all unexpected knocks at their front door. Safia only laughed and hopped to her feet.

"If it's Tony Stark, don't open it," Clara said.

Safia peered through the peephole. "Some woman," she said, disappointed. "Maybe it's the new neighbor downstairs." She opened the door, which blocked the visitor from Clara's view, and smiled. "Hi!"

"Hi," came a low, even voice. "I'm looking for Clara McKenna."

Clara squinted. Something about that woman's voice was familiar. Where had she heard it before?

"Come on in, she's right here," Safia said. "Are you from _The Today Show?_" Suddenly, a phone started ringing from another room. "Oh, crap, that's mine."

Safia dashed away to her bedroom and slammed the door as the visitor—short, slight, and red-haired—stepped into the apartment. Clara jumped to her feet, her heart racing. This woman wore completely normal clothes—jeans and a leather jacket over a plain T-shirt—but Clara remembered her as the woman in the black jumpsuit who had been eating shawarma with the other Avengers.

"Agent Romanoff?" Clara said.

"Ms. McKenna," she said. "We need to talk."

Clara tried to maintain a poker face even as she felt queasy with dread.

"Okay, well…you want to sit down?"

Agent Romanoff shook her head. "Not here. I need you to come with me."

"That's…suspicious. Can you tell me what this is about first?"

"I'm sorry," the agent said. "You'll have to wait until we get there."

"What if I won't come with you?" Clara asked.

"I'll persuade you."

Clara had no doubts about that. She picked up her cell phone and keys. "Safia!" she called. "I gotta go out for a bit."

In the stairwell, Agent Romanoff said, "You'll be back today, if that's what worries you."

"It crossed my mind," Clara said. "Look, is this about the show? Because Tony said that the technical snafu was S.H.I.E.L.D., and here you are at my apartment in the same morning, and seriously? You really can't tell me _anything_ right now?"

She was two seconds away from saying "Do you know who my father is?"—a tactic she hadn't pulled since junior high—but she resisted. They probably knew already, anyway.

"I strongly recommend you save your questions until later, Ms. McKenna."

Outside of the building was an unmarked, black car. When Agent Romanoff opened the back door, Clara climbed inside to find that the windows were so heavily tinted, she could not see out of them. A barrier between the front and back seat kept the driver from view.

"I was wrong, this isn't suspicious at all," she said. "I am completely comfortable and not at all creeped out."

Agent Romanoff sat beside her, closed the door, and the car pulled away. She said nothing else during the drive, and Clara made no attempt at further conversation. Instead, she sat still, trying to map out the car's route in her head. With the changing speed, numerous turns, and red lights, she quickly lost track. Then there was a winding, downhill slope that was the most unnerving part so far.

When the vehicle finally stopped, its engine turned off, Agent Romanoff opened the door and climbed out. Clara followed close behind. They had pulled into a parking garage, mostly empty of other vehicles and completely empty of any helpful signage. The driver did not get out. Clara followed Agent Romanoff to a doorway flanked by two men in dark uniforms, including bulletproof vests and holsters. They exchanged nods and allowed the two women to pass them.

Clara walked alongside her down a long, empty corridor, harshly illuminated by fluorescent lighting. When they passed a door with a window, Clara glimpsed the inside of some kind of laboratory. She did a double take—was that Captain America? She was about to ask Agent Romanoff, but decided not to bother. Still…if Captain America was here, it did make her feel _slightly _better about the situation.

"In here," the agent finally said, stopping.

She opened a door to a small room with plain, concrete walls. It was furnished only with a table and two chairs, as though intended for interrogation. At the sight of it all, Clara's annoyed apprehension escalated into full-blown horror. She took a step back from the doorway.

"I go in that room," Clara said, "I'm not coming out again, am I?"

"Ms. McKenna, we would really appreciate your cooperation."

"Then tell me what's going on."

Agent Romanoff looked into her eyes. "Director Fury just wants to talk to you. Now _please_ have a seat."

Clara had a few inches on her, but she was sure the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent could easily kick her ass—or just shoot her in the face. She went into the room and sat in one of the chairs. Instead of joining her, Agent Romanoff stayed in the hallway and closed the windowless door. Clara's nausea surged as she heard the door being locked. Then she heard nothing but fading footsteps, the buzz of the fluorescent lights, and her own pounding heart.

_I should have left for Asgard right from Tony's place_, she thought. _They couldn't follow me there, right?_

Maybe they would have taken Safia instead. No, that was crazy—wasn't it? It was Clara they wanted. Agent Romanoff would have taken Safia with them if she'd wanted to. Safia hadn't heard the agent's request; she hadn't even heard Clara refer to her as an agent. She thought the woman was from the show. They wouldn't _not_ take Clara home when there was a witness to report her missing, right?

_Can you report someone missing when they'd been taken away by the government? I don't think it works that way_, she thought. _But they wouldn't keep Fred McKenna's daughter here for no reason._

She heard more footsteps and held her breath. The door was unlocked, and in stepped a towering black man dressed in a leather trench coat and wearing a goatee and an eyepatch.

"Clara McKenna?" he said. "I'm Nick Fury, director of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division."

_Okay, so…he's even scarier than Tony implied, _she thought. _Great._

She stayed in her seat, unwilling to show him much courtesy. He closed the door and sat down across the table from her.

"You've been calling quite a bit of attention to yourself, Ms. McKenna," he said. "S.H.I.E.L.D. is very interested in your motivations."

"I'd like a lawyer present before I answer any questions," Clara said, her voice trembling slightly.

Fury's expression did not change. "You are not under arrest, Ms. McKenna."

"I'm not?" Clara looked around the room. "Could've fooled me."

"Technically, you haven't broken any laws in what you're doing."

"Of _course_ I haven't," she said. "That's why I don't understand why I'm here!"

"What interest do you have in the Avengers?" Fury asked, folding his hands and resting them on the table.

"Wh-what's not to be interested in? Manhattan getting blasted to pieces by hostile aliens, and then getting saved by real-life superheroes—one of them an alien himself? Kind of," she added, not thrilled to be thinking of Thor as an alien. "You'd have to be a pretty cold son of a…well, I'd be surprised if anyone _wasn't _interested."

"I see," Fury said. "And you hadn't considered the fact that your blog content might be a security threat?"

"A _security threat?_" Clara repeated. She was getting that now-familiar feeling of exasperation that always boosted her courage. "No, Mr. Fury, I didn't think it would be. The Avengers were all over the news before I ever met any of them, and last I heard, the aliens that attacked us didn't do it through someone's _blog_. If it's that much of a threat, why didn't you shut it down, like you shut down the interview today?"

Fury sighed, the first sign of any emotion since he entered the room.

"Ms. McKenna, do you realize how much panic there has been across the nation—across the _world—_since the attack? Everyone has their own theory about what happened that day, and why. We are trying to prevent chaos, but when citizens are terrified of aliens from another world, chaos is what you get. We've already gotten reports of a new cult arising from the rumors about extraterrestrial life. Other groups are ready to take up arms against the U.N. for not disclosing what they thought they knew about these extraterrestrials."

Clara glared at him, thinking that some of those people might have been justified.

"Also," Fury continued, "S.H.I.E.L.D. has confiscated what we could salvage of the Chitauri's technology, for our own research. More coverage of the attack—and those involved—could attract too much attention before we're prepared to share our findings. You're not helping our damage control, and we're caught between shutting down your blog and adding to the conspiracy theories, or letting you go on and finding out too late what _you _have discovered."

"I see," she said coldly.

"The information posted _could_ have been better contained if the author had not tried to use it to make herself famous."

Clara's jaw dropped at that remark. "Okay, _not _my intention, but I thought people would feel safer knowing that we've got the Avengers—and that they can _win_ that kind of fight!"

"I'm not talking about the Avengers now," Fury said. "I'm talking about you showing off photos of a previously unknown planet like you just got back from spring break in Miami."

"Oh," Clara said. "Asgard."

"Yes, Asgard," Fury repeated. He watched her for a moment, but she said nothing. "Putting aside any doubts that you are telling the truth, I'm curious to know how you got there and back."

Clara looked down, beginning to feel sick again. Her hands fidgeted under the table; she finally remembered she was still wearing the ring. What if she turned the stone now and went back to Asgard? Pointless—they'd find her again as soon as she came back to Earth, maybe to try more "enhanced" interrogation.

When she still said nothing more, Fury sighed again and said, "The main reason I had you brought in today is that S.H.I.E.L.D. might work around your lapse in judgment—with your cooperation."

Clara looked up at that, surprised. "What do you mean?"

"As I just said, we are studying the Chitauri's weapons to better understand extraterrestrial threats. We also confiscated Loki's weapon before Thor took him back to Asgard."

"Probably a good idea."

"To our knowledge, you are the only human being to set foot in Asgard."

"Looks like it," she said. "And all I did was ask nicely."

Was that the hint of a sneer she saw on Fury's face? Somehow it reminded her of Tony and all his inappropriate, less-than-vague remarks.

"Ms. McKenna, if you were to leverage your new relationship with the Asgardians, you could help further S.H.I.E.L.D.'s research—and perhaps undo any potential security damage you've caused. If you help us, we would certainly make no effort to take down your content—provided you keep it within certain boundaries in the future."

None of this sounded good. "And if I don't want to help?" she asked, her voice a little weaker than she would have liked.

"I don't think I need to spell out for you what's at stake."

"So you're just flat-out threatening me." She couldn't resist the question any longer. "Look, I just _have _to ask—do you realize who my father is?"

"Yes, Ms. McKenna, we know who your father is. We know who your mother is, and who your sister is. We know when you left your apartment this morning and which subway trains you took back from Stark Tower. We know the names and hometowns of your roommate, your landlord, and the vendor you bought a pretzel from yesterday."

Clara scowled silently up at him. She felt—and looked—like a petulant child, but she did not care. Fury continued.

"And now I am asking: are you willing to help us out?"

Her annoyance was losing out to fear again. "Just what do you want from me, Mr. Fury?"

"Our sources tell us that you've agreed to become a kind of emissary between Asgard and Earth."

Denying it was probably useless. "By 'sources,' do you mean Tony Stark?" Clara asked with a grumble.

He ignored the question. "What we want is information—any and all that you can provide about Asgardian weaponry and science. We'd like to know what it is, where they get it, and how they use it. Without the Tesseract, we need other means to develop protections against alien threats"—here Clara curled her hands into fists as she thought of the Tesseract-powered item right under Fury's nose—"and you could be our best source of data. This would require a significant amount of discretion, which you haven't exactly demonstrated. But with the right motivation, maybe you could."

"You want me to spy on Asgard," she said, baffled.

"Good," Fury said, "we're on the same page."

"You want me to spy…on Thor. And Odin. _Odin?_"

"To an extent."

"Okay, well, putting aside the _insanity _of that, I can't! I mean, I can't just abuse their trust like that—and I don't know how much they have to begin with."

"The Asgardians have earned your loyalty pretty quickly."

She felt her face growing warm again. "I just…I saw no reason not to trust them. I don't want to create any unnecessary suspicion, either. We're just…getting to know each other." _Shut up, shut up, shut up…_

"Hence the need for discretion," Fury said.

Clara stared at a spot on the table as she gathered up her nerve. "No," she said. "That's my answer."

Hands still folded, he leaned forward at the table, focusing intently on Clara's face with his uncovered eye. "Ms. McKenna, does the safety of your world mean anything to you?"

She stared back at him. "My dad used to try those patriotic guilt-trips on me, too. But I gotta say, between the Avengers and the Asgardians being on our side—minus Loki, obviously—I don't think Earth's safety is in too much danger. And if they find out you tried to send a spy in their midst, what then? Do you really want to lose the support of _Asgard?_"

"Ms. McKenna, we're giving you a chance to be useful here. I don't want to have to get mean about it, but it comes down to this: You work with us, or you don't work at all."

_Be grateful you have a choice, _Loki had said to her.

_I guess he was wrong…_

Fury did not look away from her as he sat up straight again. "As for Asgard, whatever Thor may claim about the rest of his people wanting peace, the ringleader of the Chitauri attack is his brother. We can't assume all the rest of them are on our side. S.H.I.E.L.D. is not asking for a lot of extra effort on your part. All we want is for your familiarity with Asgard to be more…targeted."

Clara tried to shift her weight in her seat while still keeping her hands from view. She wanted to remove the ring and slip it into her pocket, but doubtless he would notice. Looking up again, she caught Fury's fierce, inscrutable gaze. She felt a fresh surge of panic before she saw that he did not seem to be interested in her hands.

She lowered her chin as her shoulders sagged with defeat. "Fine," she said. "I'll see what I can do."

Fury stood up; Clara was too wrapped up in her thoughts to follow suit.

"By the way," he said, "we can also offer monetary compensation for the information you provide."

Clara glared up at him, ready to say that after the riches of Asgard, she'd hardly be swayed by American money. Once again, she kept her mouth shut.

"That's nice of you," she said, finally standing up. _Not even if it was every penny in Stark Industries profit, _she thought to herself.

"There's something else we want information on," Fury said.

"You don't ask for much, do you?" Clara said.

"Loki is guilty of countless crimes committed on U.S. soil, but I didn't argue with Thor when he insisted on taking him back to Asgard for justice. We can't monitor Asgard from here—yet—so we'd appreciate updates on his whereabouts. We'd like to know what kind of justice the Asgardians consider appropriate for a criminal of his…capabilities. Might tell us more about their regard for Earth."

Clara looked at Fury in horror, practically _feeling _herself getting pale. "You've got to be joking," she said.

Fury shook his head. "Did you happen to learn what they did with him?"

She stared at the man, again with disbelief. She felt a few muscles in her face relax, thinking of that one photograph still on her hard drive, seen by no one but herself—depthless green eyes, a suspicious glare, a defeated prince.

"No," she said. "They took him away after we arrived, and I never saw him again."

Fury watched her expression—innocent, but not _too _innocent—for a moment, then stepped aside to the door.

"Thank you for your assistance, Ms. McKenna. We'll be in touch. Wait here a moment, and we'll arrange your transportation home."


	14. For God and Country

**A/N: You guys. This week this story reached 100 followers on this site. What. The heck. Thank you _so much!_ When I posted the first chapter, I wasn't even sure I'd continue it, but I feel obligated now. Which is fine, because I actually have the whole thing plotted out to the bitter end, even if a lot of details still need to be worked out. But yes, as I said in my previous A/N, I know where this is going. One more time: THANK YOU!**

* * *

Clara stumbled out of the interrogation room on shaky legs, her hands clenched into fists and her stomach feeling similarly arranged. Fury was nowhere to be seen, but Agent Romanoff was standing in the hallway.

"I can take you home now," she said. "The car's waiting in the garage."

Clara could not seem to find the right words for a response—certainly not "thank you." She scowled at the woman, even if it did not seem to have any effect.

They both turned their heads at the sound of approaching footsteps. Steve Rogers was walking toward them. So Clara had not been wrong in thinking she saw Captain America in the lab.

"Agent Romanoff, hello," he said. He turned to Clara. "Good to see you again, Miss McKenna."

"You too," she said weakly.

"What's wrong with her?" he asked, concern furrowing his brow.

"You know how intimidating Fury can be," Agent Romanoff said. "She'll be fine once she gets home."

"Need a ride?" Steve asked Clara.

"There's a car waiting. I was just about to escort her back to her apartment."

"I'll do it," he said. "She looks pretty shaken."

Clara was too relieved to be offended by his patronizing attitude. "Fine with me," she said. "I'm sure Agent Romanoff has work to do, anyway," she added peevishly.

The agent walked them both to the car. As she got inside, Clara just managed to glimpse her leaning down to speak to the unseen driver before Steve Rogers closed the door. He sat beside her, waiting for the vehicle to move, while Clara studied his profile. At least _he _didn't seem nervous about where they were or where they were going. Maybe that should have been some comfort to her.

"So what were _you_ doing there?" she asked him once they had been traveling for a few minutes.

"Me?" he asked. "Since I…woke up, S.H.I.E.L.D. likes to do these blood tests every once in a while. Checking for after-effects, that kind of thing. They're still trying to replicate the serum, too."

"And doing other things," Clara mumbled.

He looked at her, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

She met his gaze—another pretty pair of blue eyes. _Damn, how are all the Avengers so good-looking? _she wondered.

She was so close to telling him what happened in that little room. By now, she was wondering if there was _anyone _left in the world that she could trust. It was tempting to spill her guts to Captain America about her new position in the court of Asgard, how nothing was going right so far, how annoying Tony was, why she never wanted to have anything to do with politics, Fury's threats, and even her not-quite-hidden feelings for Thor.

Something kept her in check, though. She looked away, holding her tongue. She knew these patriotic, good-old-boy types: sweet, wholesome, loyal, ready to do just about anything for you. But the faintest whiff of rebellion, and they were like a hound with his quarry, turning on you in an instant. Maybe that description didn't apply to Steve Rogers, but under the circumstances, Clara had no desire to find out.

"Never mind," she said instead.

She closed her eyes and leaned her head back, for a moment forgetting where she was and where she had been. A headache was closing in on her and the pain in her stomach changed subtly. She realized that, in the morning's craziness, she had forgotten to eat anything.

"So where do you live?" Steve asked.

"Coyle Street, in Brooklyn," she said.

"Really? I'm from Brooklyn!"

Her eyes still closed, Clara smiled. Good ol' boy or not, this was the first friendly conversation she'd had in ages with someone who wasn't her roommate. "That's where all the cool people are from," she said. "Well, I was born in California, but…you know."

"Did you live in Hollywood?" he asked eagerly.

She opened her eyes and turned toward him, this time a little more tempted than before to tell him what was on her mind. He looked so fascinated, like a little kid.

"Nope, San Francisco area."

"Wow," he said. "And you came all the way out here?"

"Sure did," she said. "It's…not that big a deal these days."

"No, I guess not," he said. He paused, but Clara did not try to fill the silence. After a little while, he said, "I was on tour to promote war-bonds for a while, but we never made it to California before taking the act to Europe."

"You'll have to get out there sometime," Clara said. "You'd like it."

"Maybe someday," he said.

She grinned again, thinking how hilariously weird this was. How old was he, technically—around 90? And yet it was like talking to someone her age—which, in a way, he still was.

Then she looked at his face again. He seemed so youthful and naïve one minute, but in the next she could see melancholy mixed with the earnestness in his world-weary eyes. She held her breath at the realization that this man—a man her age, but not of her time—had experienced things she could never imagine. It might have broken her heart if she thought about it too long.

Finally, the car came to its final stop. There was a click as the doors were unlocked. Steve got out first, seeming to think nothing of the fact that they had been transported in something only slightly swankier than a kidnapper's van. Maybe he had worked with S.H.I.E.L.D. enough now that he was used to the way they did things, and _didn't _hate them for it. Clara didn't know how he could stand it, but of course she was a little more bitter that day. They probably didn't have to force Captain America to do what they wanted—he was probably a sucker for those patriotic guilt trips.

Clara opened her door and stepped out onto the pavement, almost surprised that they _were_ in front of her apartment building. She could not relax completely until the car pulled away and disappeared around a corner. Meanwhile, Steve craned his neck as he squinted up at the buildings.

"Wow," he said. "I haven't been in Brooklyn since…" He didn't finish his sentence. Clara watched as he cleared his throat and lowered his gaze to eye level. "Well, it's changed a little from my day."

She quietly observed him for a minute before getting an idea. "Hey," she said. "You want to get some lunch? I haven't eaten all day, and there's a great falafel place a few blocks from here."

He looked at her suspiciously for half a second before he said, all politeness, "I'm sorry, Miss McKenna, I'll have to take a rain check. I'm supposed to meet Stark and Dr. Banner. They're helping me out with some of this modern technology," he explained with a self-conscious smile.

The mention of Tony made Clara scowl again. Narrowing her eyes, she said, "You know what, Captain? I'd like to join you. I need to have a word with _Mr. Stark_."

"Well…I don't mind, but…I don't know if he—"

"Oh, he'll be _fine_," she said. "Besides, do you even know how to get there from here?"

Steve turned around, only then realizing that the S.H.I.E.L.D. vehicle had driven off. "Rats," he said.

"Come on in with me for just a second," she said, pulling her keys out of her pocket. "I want to pick up something first and we'll head to the subway."

Still wary for some reason, he followed her into the building. Upstairs, Clara unlocked the front door and led him inside, where they immediately cringed. A Shakira song blared out of Safia's room.

"Sorry about that!" Clara shouted to Steve. "I'm back, Safia! Do you mind?" she screamed into the bedroom.

Immediately Safia lowered the volume.

"Hey!" She bounded out into the living area. "Where did you—?"

Safia stopped—both in words and movement—when she saw Steve Rogers. Her eyes almost popping from her head, she said, "That's…that's not who you left with."

Clara laughed. "This is Steve Rogers—also known as Captain America. Steve, this is my roommate, Safia Varma."

She had to cover her mouth to avoid laughing at the sight of poor speechless Safia's face when Steve shook her hand and called her "ma'am." Clara thought she would melt into a puddle on the floor.

"Hi," Safia finally squeaked. "So…you're Captain America?"

"Yes, I am," he said with a shy grin.

"_Wooowww_," she breathed, still not letting go of his hand.

Clara stepped aside to gather her bag and her wallet. When she looked back, Safia had finally let go of his hand, but she was still staring at him, overawed, and he was looking more than a little embarrassed.

"OK, well, just wanted to grab my stuff," Clara said. "I have to go back to Stark Tower and talk to Tony about something."

She opened the door to let Steve out onto the landing, but before she could follow him, her roommate grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

"Oh, my _gawd_," Safia gasped. "Clara, you're…you're like…holy crap, you're just…going to hang out with the Avengers? Like it's…_wow_."

"There's more to it than that," Clara said. "I've _been _doing this, for weeks, you know that."

"Yeah, but…" Safia rose up on her toes to look past Clara at Steve. "I mean…" She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Captain America is _hot!_"

This time, Clara let herself laugh as much as she wanted. "I'll see if I can bring him back with me later, okay?"

"Okay!" Safia whispered eagerly.

Clara gave Steve a miniature tour of Brooklyn on the walk to the subway. She felt so sorry for him by the time they reached the nearest station. Nothing looked familiar to him, and by the time they got on a train, he was crestfallen. After some attempts at conversation, however, he cheered up again.

"So what were you doing there today?" he asked Clara. "I thought you had some television thing with Stark."

"I did, but I guess S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't approve," Clara said bitterly. "Agent Romanoff showed up at my apartment and basically threatened me if I didn't come with her."

"And then what?" Steve sounded worried.

"Well, I finally met Director Fury. And Tony was right—he made me an offer I couldn't refuse."

"What did he tell you?" He was almost frantic. That was unexpected.

"More than enough," she said. Steve withdrew, saying nothing else until they emerged from the station. He looked distraught even as they stepped into Stark Tower's enormous first-floor foyer.

"Are you sure you're all right?" he finally asked Clara.

"No," she said. "Maybe in a minute I will be, but not right now." She turned toward the sound of shoes on the tile to see the proprietor emerging from a hallway.

"Hey Rogers," Tony said, a friendly smile on his face that vanished when he saw who else was there. "Banner is—oh."

"_You!_" Clara said fiercely, storming toward him.

Tony cocked his head and looked over Clara's head at Steve, his brows raised. "What the hell, Rogers? I thought I got rid of her this morning."

"Stark, S.H.I.E.L.D. picked her up today," Steve said before Clara could answer. "I don't know what they did, but she was obviously upset. I saw her there—she'd just talked with Fury."

"Thanks for the chivalry act, but I can speak for myself," Clara said, now too ill-tempered to be polite.

Tony looked her up and down, as though evaluating the amount of damage she had sustained. "So they finally got to you," he said, his expression sobering.

"No thanks to _you_," she snapped. "You said that S.H.I.E.L.D. had a proposal for me, but you didn't say you were the one who told them about Odin's offer in the _first place!_"

"Excuse me?" Tony said.

"Fury said his 'sources' told him about my becoming an ambassador for Asgard. I never said a word about it to anyone here on Earth, and we both know Thor came to talk to _you_ about it. Unless S.H.I.E.L.D. bugged the room, I don't know what other explanation there could be."

"Then you've got a limited imagination," Tony said with a scoff that somehow reminded her of Loki.

"I didn't really wonder how S.H.I.E.L.D. found out about it, since I never heard directly from them until today. For all I knew, you could have just been making it all up. But then, they not only screw up my interview, but they send that Romanoff lady to _kidnap _me, and then Fury threatens to take down my blog if I don't cooperate. So now that I know this shit is _real_, I want to know why you ratted me out, and why you thought you should hide that fact when you came to my apartment that day."

"I didn't mention it because _that didn't happen_," Tony said, now visibly angry. "They needed someone to talk to you, and I offered, but I didn't tell S.H.I.E.L.D. about it in the first place. You might ask your boyfriend about that."

"Thor wouldn't tell them about it behind my back," Clara said, only half-convinced of that herself. "And for the last time, he's _not _my boyfriend."

Tony looked at Clara's hands as she gestured angrily. "So did they confiscate anything?" he asked.

"No, thank God," she said. "Fury didn't even see my—" She stopped and turned over her hand to see the ring's blue stone. She looked back up at Tony. "Fury didn't know how I've been getting to Asgard."

Tony stared back at her silently, his expression unchanged except for a quirk of his mouth.

"_You _knew," Clara added. "But you didn't tell him. Then…?"

"Miss McKenna, I think you're angry at the wrong person," Steve said.

"Am I?" she asked, whirling around to face him. "Who _should _I be angry at?"

He lifted his chin slightly. "I'm the one who told Director Fury about you being asked to work for Asgard. Dr. Banner and I were here that day and we heard what Thor said about it."

She took one staggering step backward as though she had just been slapped in the face. "_You?_" she gasped. "Well, thanks for throwing me under the bus, _Captain America!_ Why would you _do _that?"

He looked ashamed again, enough that she would have felt bad about yelling at him if she'd been only slightly less angry. "I know S.H.I.E.L.D. made a lot of mistakes, but it seemed in everyone's best interest that they know about this. It sounded like you were a nice girl who got in over her head, and after all that's happened, I didn't want you to get mixed up with the Avengers or S.H.I.E.L.D. or any of that and get hurt. I thought they'd protect you. I didn't think they'd try to recruit you, or…threaten you."

"Well, that was _stupid_," Clara said.

"Yeah. I'm…I'm sorry."

"Nice move, old man," Tony said dryly.

"Did you know about that?" Clara asked Tony.

"It really doesn't matter," he replied. "They were going to nab you eventually."

Clara sighed. "Yeah." She closed her eyes and covered her face with her hands. "Tony, they want me to spy on the Asgardians."

"Figured as much. S.H.I.E.L.D. needs to make up for losing the Tesseract somehow."

She lowered her hands. "Fury mentioned that, but what's it got to do with anything?"

"S.H.I.E.L.D. was using the Tesseract to build advanced weapons," Steve answered. "We think it's what attracted Loki and the Chitauri to Earth."

"Holy shit," Clara said. "I didn't know that part."

"Scared yet?" Tony asked wryly.

"Little bit."

"Buck up, kid," he said. "There's a lot more 'scary' where that came from."

Clara sighed. "It's probably too late to take everything back, isn't it."

Tony grinned knowingly. "You really want to?"

"No," she said, almost before she thought about it. She took another deep breath. "Okay, well…I…I need to go. Tony…I'm sorry I yelled at you. And Steve…"

He looked at her hopefully, but she could only frown and shake her head before rushing out of the building and back to the subway station.

Safia was gone when she got home. Clara hurried around her room—as much as she could within the tight space—packing several days' worth of clothes, toiletries, and camera equipment. This time, she checked the mirror to brush her hair and touch up her makeup before she left.

She hooked her arms through the straps of her backpack and looped her camera bag over her shoulder. Holding her breath, she closed her eyes and turned the stone in her ring. A flash of light, rushing air, and she once again felt her feet leave her bedroom carpet and come into contact with the marble floor of Odin's palace. She was prepared for the impact, but staggered under the weight of her possessions.

Again, there was no one in the entrance hall. Setting her bags on the floor, Clara took a moment to savor the quiet and solitude. Strange, how much freer she felt here—free from S.H.I.E.L.D.'s scrutiny, from Tony's sarcasm, and from Steve's mistaken good intentions.

_I think I can find my room from here_, she thought. She sighed, taking in the cool air of the palace, before picking up her baggage again.

She turned down all the right hallways and passed through several rooms before she came to the now-familiar doors of her palace apartments. It was the first time she would be staying in them in an official capacity, she realized. She thought eagerly of dipping into the bath, but remembered the comfortable bed with even greater fondness. Sleep—that was what she needed most after this day.

_I wonder if I could take a nap before I talk to Thor? No, I should find him first and tell him what happened. He deserves to know as soon as possible_.

She set down her bags and collapsed onto the sofa for a moment of quiet. She closed her eyes and tried to practice controlled breathing, but a ferocious pounding noise made her shriek and sit up again. Someone was banging on the door as though intending to break it down.

She was not surprised to find Thor standing on the other side. To her astonishment, however, he wore an expression of rage such as she had never seen in him before. His crystal blue eyes flashed, his skin was flushed, and his scowl was deadly. He seemed taller and broader than before, if that was possible. Clara could not help noticing the white-knuckled grip he had on the hammer Mjolnir. Seeing him like this made her wonder how she could have thought Loki the more terrifying brother.

"So," he said, "you have returned to spy on us."


	15. Talk it Out

**A/N: My goodness, you people! You guys get _crabby _when you're left hanging!**

* * *

_This must be a mistake_. _Please be a mistake_, she thought, too terrified to speak aloud.

"You dare to return," Thor said. His voice was quiet, and still it rumbled. "You would come back so soon to make fools of us?"

Clara could only shake her head.

"_Speak!_" Thor shouted. "And tell me how you could be so bold as to think you might fool the Allfather or the future king of Asgard!"

"I-I wouldn't," she whispered.

When he made a move toward her, she stepped back, her foot slipping on the strap of her backpack. She stumbled and fell on her rear, knocking her breath away. She knew she was no match for his force and she scrambled to her feet. She dashed into the bedroom, but he followed her in a few steps. He blocked the doorway, and she realized how stupid she had been.

"If you're going to kill me," she said from the other side of the room, "at least tell me why."

"You thoughtless woman!" he bellowed, advancing on her. "Did you not realize we would learn if you deceived us? Did my father not warn you that Heimdall will see and hear it all?"

At the mention of Heimdall, she understood. "Wait!" she cried out. "Thor—please—I wasn't going to deceive you!"

His lip curled with disdain as he brandished the hammer. She clenched her eyes shut and lowered her head, her chin almost touching her chest. She could not stop whatever he intended to do. She tried to speak quickly, before the expected blow arrived.

"I'm not a spy for S.H.I.E.L.D. I only _said_ I'd do it! They wouldn't leave me alone otherwise, and I didn't know what else to say. I came to tell you, but I forgot about Heimdall, that you'd have found out already."

She paused, listening, but heard nothing. She raised her head just enough to see Thor watching her. She looked down at her hands and saw the last card she had to play. She worked the Tesseract ring off her finger.

"If you don't believe me, then send me home, with no way to come back." She stretched out her hand to him, the ring in her open palm. "Just…don't kill me?"

He snatched the ring away. "I have not informed my father the king about your plotting," he said. "I did not wish to concern him with it yet."

"I'll tell him myself, if you like," she said, looking him in his face. What she saw gave her a little relief. It looked softer—conflicted perhaps? "I came back to tell you both about it, to see if you could help me. Nothing I say can _make _you believe me, but I'm telling the truth. I only told Fury what I had to, to get him off my back. If Heimdall heard it, then he must have known they threatened to shut down my blog and all my work."

Gripping the ring in one fist and Mjolnir in the other, Thor stared her down, as though he meant to find out the truth by seeing through her skull.

"You would gain nothing by lying to us," he said. "Even if you were capable of taking us in."

"Which is exactly why I haven't," she whispered. "Why would I?"

He watched her for a moment, and she thought of Tony giving her a similar look. This was more frightening. She began wishing for the days when a man staring at her meant he was just a lustful creep—and not a powerful superhero who could smash her to pieces.

"Come," he said brusquely. "We will convey this subject to my father, and see what he makes of it."

Walking silently to Odin's throne room, Clara nearly reached her breaking point—again. After all she had been through that day—the botched interview and the meeting with S.H.I.E.L.D. and the conflicts with Tony and Steve—she was stretched almost beyond her endurance, mentally and physically. She _had _been hungry—before being shouted at by an angry demigod drove away her appetite. Now Thor despised her, or at least distrusted her, which was by far the worst thing to happen yet.

"Our ambassador has returned," Odin said when Thor and Clara had approached his throne and bowed appropriately. "What say the Midgardians of your tales?"

"They're…interested, Your Highness," Clara said. "But there's something a little more urgent I need to tell you about."

"Then do so."

She took a deep breath, wishing she had spent more time collecting her thoughts and rehearsing what she had to say. She explained, as simply and concisely as she could, what S.H.I.E.L.D. had asked her to do, what they wanted to know, how they meant to use it, and how they had threatened her. She told him everything except Fury's last-minute request about Loki. Just as she did not know what compelled her to lie to Fury about it, she did not know why she kept that detail to herself now. She wondered if Heimdall had mentioned it specifically to Thor; she wouldn't bother to deny it if he had.

"I came back as soon as I could," she said. "I wanted to make sure you and Thor knew that I don't _want _to spy on Asgard. But S.H.I.E.L.D. has the power to take away _everything_ I have. I have no intention of going back on our agreement here, but I also need to keep S.H.I.E.L.D. happy—or at least distracted—even if that means feeding them false information."

"Why would you attempt to deceive your own people to protect Asgard?" Odin asked, frowning.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. is _not _my people," Clara said. "I mean, yes, they are people of Earth, but S.H.I.E.L.D. is a group I want nothing to do with. They've been underhanded with _me, _and I owe them nothing. I've been treated with only the best hospitality and courtesy in Asgard"—here she paused to give Thor a sidelong glance—"mostly. I have no reason not to stick to the job I said I'd do for you."

She tried to keep her expression open and relaxed as Odin observed her thoughtfully.

"Do _you _believe her, Thor?" he finally asked.

_So much for that. _Clara closed her eyes, thinking that Thor's next words would be her death sentence. She waited, her throat tight and her heart sinking.

"Yes, Father," he said.

Her eyes flew wide open and she turned to him in shock. He looked back at her. Although he did not smile, she she saw mercy in his expression.

"I heard myself that this S.H.I.E.L.D. tried to construct weapons with the Tesseract," he went on, his words addressed to Odin but his eyes still on Clara. "I know the Midgardians feel vulnerable and want to protect themselves. There is nothing to contradict what Clara McKenna has said."

"Then it is not a thing to trouble me with," Odin said, a hint of exasperation in his voice. "As it is, I cannot see how these Midgardians would be much of a threat to Asgard. In future, Thor, I suggest you attempt to make these decisions on your own. You are to be king one day—you must learn to deal with such responsibilities yourself."

When they had been dismissed, a disheartened Thor led a rather cross Clara out of the throne room. Not knowing where they were going, she could only struggle to keep up, until he finally noticed and slowed down.

"How are you convinced I was telling the truth?" Clara asked breathlessly. "You were ready to smash me to death a few minutes ago!"

Thor stopped walking, surprised. "I had no intention of harming you, though Iwanted to frighten you. I had to ensure your honesty. My brother is the god of mischief and lies—my family has suffered enough treachery. When I heard of your talks with S.H.I.E.L.D., I was afraid that you had been swayed, that we had been wrong to trust you at all. Forgive me, Clara—I should have responded to my suspicions with reason, not rage."

"I'll forgive you," she said weakly. "But never do that to me again. This whole situation is stressful enough, and I don't need to be worrying that my boss' son will go off and punch a hole in my chest with _that_." She pointed at Mjolnir.

Thor nodded. "You have my word," he said. "It shall not happen again."

"I definitely know what your dad meant when he said you were no diplomat." He looked confused when she laughed mirthlessly. "I guess it was stupid to think you were going to kill me. I mean, for all Loki did, _he _just got thrown in prison." She stopped, frowning, and looked up at Thor. "Do you even have the death penalty in Asgard?"

A muscle tensed in his neck, and he was silent for a heavy moment. Clara wished she had not asked.

"In serious matters, yes," he finally said. "But you needn't concern yourself with such things."

"Actually, I do," Clara said. "This is just the kind of thing I need to know about. Or did you think I would just hang around the palace and go to feasts and then tell everyone how fun the Asgardians are? I mean, I _guess _I could do that, but it's better if my reports are more well-rounded, with good and bad."

She waited for him to speak, but he remained silent.

"Thor," she continued, "you realize there's something I didn't tell your father." He looked at her fiercely, and she struggled to keep down another swelling of terror. "Fury wanted to know Loki's whereabouts, what kind of punishment he's serving." His expression was inscrutable now. "Didn't Heimdall tell you that?"

Thor shook his head. "Heimdall told me no details. He only said that you had been questioned by S.H.I.E.L.D. and asked to relay information about Asgard to them, without our knowledge, and that you had agreed, after some persuasion and promise of pay."

"How nice of him," Clara said. Thor did not seem to pick up on her sarcasm. "The thing is, Fury's not the only one who'll want to know about Loki. It came out in my interview that Loki's connected to Asgard, that you brought him back here for justice. People are upset about what happened in New York, to put it lightly. They're gonna want the one responsible to pay for it. I know this is kind of a touchy subject—I want to know if you're okay with me talking about it back home."

Thor's expression had grown darker. "Loki is of Asgard, and he is my and my father's responsibility. The Midgardians need not be troubled. It is enough they know that much."

Again, that flash of princely pride—it still caught Clara off-guard somehow, even in his own land, within the opulence of the palace. Summoning the last of her patience and stamina, she spoke softly, trying to exercise her limited diplomatic powers.

"Thor, please," she said. "Loki's the reason you need me at all. I want to look out for everyone, but I feel like I have obligations to my own people—not S.H.I.E.L.D.—to tell them what _I_ also think is in their best interest. I want to put Asgard in the best possible light, but I want to be genuine."

"What is it you ask of me?" Thor asked.

"I want to know that you'll be okay with me talking about Loki's punishment back on Earth. I haven't mentioned it on my blog much, but it will come up. This isn't like last time, when I was drunk and stupid and mean. I won't go into more than the basic details, and I will try to give Loki the privacy I know you want him to have. I won't post pictures of him if you don't want me to. But like I said, people other than Fury will want to know what you're doing with him. Once they're satisfied, I think it will help with the rest—trusting that Asgard is at peace with Earth and all that. Plus, I need _something_ to tell Fury. I wasn't honest with him—I don't know why, I was pissed off—but I didn't share what I already knew about Loki being in prison. I think I should, just so they realize he's in capable hands, and that we're safe from him."

Without answering, Thor wandered over to one of the enormous windows lining the corridor and looked out over its splendid view of Asgard. Clara gave him a minute of peace before she moved to stand beside him. She followed his gaze out over the mountains and rivers below, to the thick forest beyond that stretched out of her sight. Twilight was coming; a few stars had already made their presence known in the darkening sky.

"Many of the king's advisors suggested death for Loki," Thor finally said, speaking slowly, as though the words were a struggle. "They thought it was the only way to put an end to his schemes. I alone spoke in his favor, convinced there was yet hope. My mind is unchanged in that regard." He looked at Clara directly again. "If your people demand another form of punishment for my brother, they will have to be disappointed."

"I get that," she said.

Thor turned back to the window. "Do not think that I do not understand the desire for vengeance, to repay a wrong suffered. I know what it is to refuse to sit back and wait for the actions of another."

"Are you talking about Jotunheim?" Clara asked, remembering what he had told her of his own private act of invasion, how it had prompted his banishment.

"In part," he said. He sighed. "Tell your people that Loki is…contained. He can do no harm where he is. But his death would be no payment for his crimes, and a violent punishment would benefit no one. He will be made to see the error of his ways; he will receive forgiveness if he asks for it. Tell them, if you wish, that I have been meeting with him and attempting to see into the depths of his anger, to learn what may be done to appease him. If his heart is turned back to us, if he demonstrates beyond doubt his sincere remorse, his position as prince of Asgard will be restored—with fewer privileges, I think. I hope that will satisfy the Midgardians enough to bring them easement without retaliation."

"But is it true?" she ventured to ask. "Is that even possible?" Although she did not bother to shield Thor from her doubtful tone, she did keep herself from saying much more.

Inside, she wanted to rant and rail against what Thor had said. Did he think she was not Midgardian? Did he believe her to be some higher form of human? He spoke as though she was not one of them, as though she did not also crave revenge for what had been done to her city. She, who had seen the criminal in person—how could he think that she did not also want a violent end for Loki?

_This job is going to be so much harder than I thought_, she realized.

Judging from the way he looked at her, Thor noticed her tone and its meaning.

"I hope it will be so," he said. "In the last few days, I have been speaking with him about…well, many things. I believe he has softened. Perhaps I see it only because I wish it so, but I know that it will take time, if it is true."

Again Clara felt conflicted, wanting to tell Thor exactly what she thought of Loki and what he deserved to suffer, but knowing how defensive siblings could be about each other, even at their worst. Not only did she hate Loki for wrecking her city and trying to conquer her people, but for the anguish he had caused Thor—far more than it seemed to cause anyone else in the realm. She could not imagine how Thor could have any hope for his brother's restoration. At the same time, she almost wanted it too; she had some idea, even after their short acquaintance, how much joy it would bring Thor.

That last idea softened her heart enough to keep her from saying anything that might anger Thor. Instead, she reached out to lay her hand on his arm. At her touch, he looked at her and smiled.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I have a sister whose gotten into trouble before, so I'd like to think I sympathize, but I really don't know what you're going through."

The kindness in his clear blue eyes was almost enough to make her weep, and more than enough to make her want to kiss him again. She resisted the urge—why, she did not know.

"It is good to have you here," he said. "I am sorry we have not made things very easy for you."

"It's okay," she said. "I've still got a lot to learn. And…I guess we're both not at our best today."

"I suppose not," he said.

He cleared his throat and stretched out one arm toward her. At first Clara did not realize what he meant, but then she saw the ring glistening in his enormous hand. She reached for it, smiling as she let her fingertips linger ever so slightly in his palm. She finally took her hand away to put the ring back on.

"Thanks for trusting me again," she said.

Thor did not pick up the conversation. Standing before the wide window and its dimming view, they regarded each other for several moments, during which Clara could not draw breath. She felt a quiver in her stomach as an uncommon warmth coursed through her limbs. Thor opened his mouth, only to close it again. Clara unconsciously shifted her weight ever so slightly forward in her feet, prepared to embrace him, hoping for the opportunity.

"I am to see my brother," he said. "Perhaps I might escort you back to your chambers first, and you may rest a while."

With those words, the spell was broken. Clara settled back on her heels, once again remembering her exhaustion and hunger. She nodded in response to Thor's suggestion.

"Rest would be good," she mumbled.

When he offered her his arm, she took it with a trembling hand, and did not loose her hold until they were back at her rooms. Even then, she did not want to detach herself. Looking back on that moment, she thought she might have begged him not to go, would have entreated him to stay with her that night, had they not opened the door to see the maid Herdis in the sitting room.

"Good evening, Your Highness," she greeted Thor, "and my lady. I have seen that all is prepared and that you have everything you need."

"You have done well, Herdis," Thor said. He bid Clara a kindly but detached good-night before he left the two women alone.

Clara smiled at Herdis, trying not to resent the maid's presence in the room. It was probably for the best; she might have humiliated herself otherwise. Besides, the unfathomable emptiness in her stomach reminded Clara to be glad that she was here.

"How are you, Herdis?" she asked.

"I am well, thank you, my lady," the young woman replied. "It is good to see you again. Is there anything you require of me this evening?"

"I could use some food," Clara said. "I don't care what. I don't think I've eaten all day, and it's been a _long day_."

"Of course, my lady," Herdis replied. "Forgive me, I should have thought of that already."

"No, no, you had no way of knowing. I'm surprised you even knew I was—oh, wait." _Damn. I need to stop forgetting about Heimdall. That's going to get me into even more trouble someday._

The young maid smiled, as though she had guessed what gave Clara pause. "I will go to the kitchens and bring you something."

After Herdis left, Clara unpacked the few days' worth of clothes and other equipment she had brought, stowing them away in the empty wardrobe. She wandered back into the sitting area, and from there into the enormous bathroom. The clear, calm pool beckoned her, and she knelt at the edge and dipped her hand in. It was warm—perfect bathwater temperature. She moved to undress, her shirt halfway off before she remembered Heimdall again and changed her mind.

_Does he see absolutely _everything? she wondered. _That's…kind of pervy. Maybe I could take a bath in the morning, before I remember again._

Herdis was quick to return with a tray of food—cold meats, fresh fruit, and grainy bread with honey and some kind of fragrant oil. In her current state, Clara could not remember anything tasting so good.

She swallowed a hunk of bread, then asked, "How is Kadlin? I haven't seen her yet."

Like curtains drawn suddenly, Herdis' friendly expression vanished. Her eyes grew sad, with a reddening that warned of tears rising close to the surface.

"My sister…has been banished from the palace," she said, her voice unsteady. "She now lives in disgrace…if she lives at all."

"I'm so sorry," Clara said, feeling sick and no longer hungry. "Can I ask what happened?"

Herdis nodded, swallowed, and explained. "She was caught stealing from Queen Frigga's jewels. I could hardly believe it. I know she has long admired a particular bracelet of the queen's, but I never thought she would steal. It is an honor to work in the palace, especially as close to the royal family as we have done, and she used that honor most ill." As she spoke, the tears came, spilling down her cheeks. "I am sorry, my lady, this is very unseemly…"

"No, please," Clara said. "I didn't mean to upset you by asking. Please don't be embarrassed. I'm sorry to hear about that."

"Thank you," Herdis whispered, though she still looked ashamed as she wiped her tears. "My lady, if you need nothing else from me…?"

"Oh my gosh, yeah, do what you need to do," Clara said. "I'm fine on my own. You seem like you could use some sleep too, so…yeah. Again, I-I'm sorry."

"Good night, my lady," the maid said before leaving.

_I suppose Heimdall caught her in the act_, Clara thought as she finished her dinner.

She thought again of the luxurious bath, and how much she wanted to try a different soap this time, but she could not bring herself to partake. Even when she changed into the pajamas she had finally thought to bring, she did so as quickly as possible. Between the cool sheets of the bed, she felt eyes upon her, hoping it was only her imagination.


	16. Wine Country

**A/N: Hello everyone! Hope you guys are still enjoying this fic. Some important things to note before we get back into the story.**

**I anticipate updates to be even slower than they have been lately, I'm sorry to say. This fic started as a fun side project while I took a break from writing a sequel to my first novel, _Radicals & Royalists_—which, by the way, is available on Amazon under my real name, which has the initials EJ (I'm not spelling out my full name here for complicated reasons). As I get back to work on the new novel, I'm splitting my time among a full-time day job, writing/researching a second novel, and this fic.**

**Be assured, as I've said several times already: I fully intend to finish this fic. I'm just taking my time with the writing and the plot's pacing, so I may have a bazillion chapters when it's over. And hopefully I'll finish it before Thor 2 comes out, ha!**

* * *

Herdis was calm the next morning when she brought Clara a breakfast of warm cider and pastries.

"Tell me something," Clara said. "What's it like to live here and do…everything…knowing that Heimdall can see it?"

Herdis cocked her head thoughtfully. "I suppose we are all used to it. Those in the royal court, and we who work in the palace, are really the only ones who have much knowledge of him. I would not be surprised if the people in more distant villages never knew of him."

"I wanted to take a bath, but then I was thinking how he could see me, and I just couldn't do it," Clara admitted.

The maid laughed. "I think he has seen everything already, and with all that he takes in at once, there is nothing that shocks or interests him much now. What he does, he does for the good of our king, and for Asgard. There is no shame in it. You should not worry."

"Thanks," Clara said. "Maybe I'll get used to it too."

* * *

Clara thought that her time in Asgard would be a bit less demanding than life in New York. She quickly learned how wrong she was.

She certainly had little time to herself as a new ambassador. There were vast areas of the palace she had not yet seen, much less the rest of the realm. Thor introduced her to other members of the court, including Odin's counselors, sorcerers, and attendants, as well as honored soldiers she had not already met. The day after she arrived, the king permitted her to attend his morning audience, when weighty matters of the realm were brought before him in the throne room. Clara tried to take notes and sneak some photos, but it was difficult to stay interested. Most of the issues involved towns with names she did not recognize, a treaty with another realm, and something about the next harvests.

Later, Clara met Heimdall face-to-face, an experience she hoped never to repeat. The massive being, clad in golden armor, had stared at her with such piercing eyes that she felt as though he saw into her very soul.

"Can he read minds?" she whispered to Thor when they finally withdrew from Heimdall's presence.

Thor chuckled. "No, but he appears capable, does he not?"

"Good, at least I'm not crazy for asking."

Dinner that night was an interesting affair, as Lady Sif and the Warriors Three had been asked to join Odin, Frigga, Thor, and Clara at their table. Clara took care not to partake of the wine this time. When Fandral asked her what she had been doing all day, he groaned at her response.

"Really, Thor, do you expect the simple Midgardians to be so fascinated with matters of state?" he asked.

"Excuse me?" Clara said. Volstagg laughed into his goblet while Sif rolled her eyes.

"Oh! No offense intended, my dear, of course," Fandral said. "I only meant that there are many more interesting things for a lovely, esteemed visitor from Midgard to see here. You've already seen a bit of our countryside, but there is so much left to experience."

"Well, when I go back, I'd like to be able to talk about a little of everything," Clara said. "I'd say the workings of your government have a place in that." Secretly she thought Fandral had a good point, but she did not want to insult Odin or make Thor think she had been bored.

"What would you have her see, Fandral?" Thor asked. "I ask, dreading your answer."

"The season is right for a boar hunt," the warrior replied. "That could be arranged soon. I do not know if our guest had the pleasure of hearing Asgard's musicians before, but I _do _know that she never had the pleasure of dancing with me, and she must not be allowed to return to Midgard without it! If she enjoys a bit of a scare, we might show her the forest at night. Do not fear for your safety," he added to Clara, whose eyes had gone wide. "We shall be your guides, and no monsters would dare come after you." He grinned and leaned toward her. "However sorely they are tempted."

"Is that like a haunted house?" Clara asked. When the others looked confused, she said, "Never mind. I assume it is. But I don't want you to work too hard just to entertain me. I'm supposed to tell people about what Asgard is _normally _like. You don't have to try to think of things just for me."

"But we do hope you enjoy your time here, at least," Frigga spoke up. "You are here to speak well of us to your people, are you not?"

Rather than being irritated, Thor had been frowning thoughtfully at Fandral's ideas.

"Fandral may have accidentally said the right thing," he said to Clara. "Do any of those activities appeal to you?"

"Sure, I guess," Clara said.

"Then later I shall take you to the stables and see if you can manage an Asgardian steed."

"Be careful," Sif said. "It would hardly do for her to fall and break her neck."

"I'm a pretty good rider," Clara said. "It's been a few years, but I'm sure it'll come back to me."

"All the same," Sif said, "you will not be used to our horses. Thor, you will make sure she doesn't get kicked or anything, won't you?" It was more of an expectant statement than a question.

"Yes, Lady Sif," Thor said, sounding vaguely annoyed. "She will come to no harm in my presence."

Clara finished her dinner in a rush, eager to see the stables before it was dark. Thor led her through the palace and out a back corridor. After crossing a golden, covered bridge to a plateau area, they passed a fenced-in exercise field and came within view of the stone structure that housed the royal stables. As they drew closer, the smell wafted toward them. Clara's face began to ache from the width of her smile; special Asgardian horses or not, they smelled exactly like the ones on Earth. She did not know until that moment how much she had missed riding.

Inside the stables, however, her eagerness came to a pause. Sif had been right; these were not like the horses Clara was used to. They were bigger than the biggest draft horses she had seen, and more energetic. They snorted and stomped within their roomy stalls and flicked long, thick tails that might well have been used as whips. Their coats glistened—she saw a palomino colored horse, several different bay horses, and one terrifying coal-black stallion—but their eyes sparkled even brighter with an uncanny consciousness.

Despite the fearsomeness of these animals, after her initial shock Clara was enchanted, wandering along the enclosures to look at them. Thor called for a stable boy named Adils; Clara watched as they brought out a chestnut-colored mare and fitted her with a bridle and saddle. She tossed her head regally and eyed Clara with suspicion, seemingly aware that she was looking at her intended rider.

"She is ready," Thor said. "I will help you while Adils prepares my own steed."

The horse must have sensed Clara's nervousness, but Clara knew from past experience that she had to take charge, fear or no. She moved to stand at the mare's left side, then reached out and patted her reddish-brown neck.

"What's her name?" she asked Thor.

"We call her Vigdis."

"Hello, Vigdis," Clara said, the name feeling strange on her tongue. "I'm sure I don't need to tell you how gorgeous you are. Let's see how we get along, okay?"

She glanced at Thor, who looked amused. He was just about to step forward with instructions when she lifted her left foot into the stirrup. The entire setup was almost too high for her, but she managed to grab the saddle, hoist herself up, and swing her other leg over the horse's back all in one motion. Steadying herself, she settled into the seat and took a deep breath. She was higher up than she had ever been on a horse, but all the familiar feelings came back in a happy rush. She could not help feeling pleased with herself as she grabbed the reins and twisted a little in the saddle to grin at Thor.

"You sit well," he said, surprised.

"I've been doing it most of my life," she said. "It's the only way to tour the vineyards in wine country."

Thor mounted a massive bay stallion, then dismissed the stable boy. He coaxed his horse into a trot and passed Clara, who followed behind. Once in the saddle, her apprehension had melted away, and she managed Vigdis with a steady hand—or rather, the horse chose not to cause trouble. Outside of the stables, the horses walked neck-and-neck. Clara eagerly looked around at the new view, drinking in every detail, yet unaware how Thor silently watched her delight.

To her left, the sun was just beginning to slip toward the horizon, throwing a conflagration of gold, orange, and pinks across the blue sky. The light reflected blindingly off the palace, making it look like a second sun. At her right, an expanse of lawn sloped down into a shadowed valley with a river, and then grew into mountains beyond.

"So where are we going?" she asked, breaking the silence of the beautiful scene.

He smirked, but did not answer her. Instead, he gave a kick and sent his mount into a canter, toward the valley. Clara clucked her tongue with annoyance before pursuing. She was caught between taking in the view along the way and keeping track of Thor. They rode downhill and along the river. Soon she saw where he was leading her, and she gave the reins a tug, pulling Vigdis to a halt.

A short distance away, the grassy land stopped and turned into a field of cultivated plants, growing in rows that stretched far out of her sight. Thick vines and leaves tangled around supporting trellises; she could see the fruits growing on them. The evening sky's blues and pinks illuminated the field's greens and browns and gave the distant mountains an orange glow. The entire sight was breathtaking, but it was the rows of greenery that brought tears to Clara's eyes.

Thor had brought her to the edge of Asgard's vineyards.

Clara had not seen vineyards for years, since the last time she had been in California wine country. She hadn't thought that Asgard would _have _vineyards, but all that wine must have come from somewhere.

Thor rode down one of the rows before he noticed that she was no longer following. He stopped and looked behind him just in time to see Clara wiping her eyes. She tried to hide it with a smile and coaxed her horse back into a walk, taking her into the next row over. She could smell the ripening fruit over the dirt and horses. When she could not resist it any longer, she dismounted. Vigdis looked at her with surprise but did not try to escape, even when she let go of the reins.

Clara buried her face in a bundle of leaves, closing her eyes as she inhaled the familiar scent. She remembered her mother first teaching her how to ride in Napa Valley. She thought of her family—the father she had not spoken to in two years, the wayward sister she had not seen in even longer. She missed it all desperately…and yet, somehow, didn't. As she looked down the long, grassy path, she wished she could walk all the way to the end, out of sight, until her legs gave out from under her, until she was lost in this magnificent realm.

Turning around, she gasped to see Thor right behind her. Absorbed in her own thoughts, she had not noticed him dismount his steed or approach her.

"What say you?" he asked. "Do Asgard's vineyards compare?"

"It's perfect," she said, reaching up to gently touch a leaf. "Reminds me of home. California home, I mean, not New York. Although I'm not sure if that's really home anymore." She looked up at him. The sunset washed him in a golden glow, making his eyes more striking than ever and his form more regal. "But I like it here too," she added.

"That is good," he said. "If you ever wish to return to these fields, I am sure Vigdis would not object."

"Thanks," she said, chuckling a little. Suddenly feeling nervous, she turned toward Vigdis and pet the horse's neck. "I think we hit it off pretty well, didn't we, lady?"

"Of course, you are permitted—you are _welcome_—anywhere in the realm. Consider this your home whenever you are here."

Words caught in her throat as she continued to stroke Vigdis' glossy coat. "I appreciate that," she finally said. Despite the lovely moment, a thought entered her head and began to pester her. "Thor?"

"Yes?"

She looked back at him. "You do trust me, right? I mean, your father wouldn't still want me as ambassador—you wouldn't be showing me around your palace, your kingdom—if you didn't?"

"Yes, we trust you," he said, looking slightly puzzled. "I thought we had settled that matter."

"I know, I just…I would never do anything deliberately to hurt you, or your people. Asgard deserves to have the truth told about it, and I'm gonna do my best. I promise."

He smiled a little. "I believe you."

"I want to make sure you know that I appreciate all you've been doing—your hospitality and everything."

"Be at ease, Clara," he said. "We welcome you here. It has been a pleasure to show you the realm—a welcome relief, I dare say, from everything that has been happening."

"Yeah, I feel the same way," she said.

She looked him full in the face then, determined that he should read everything she wanted to convey but could not speak aloud. Falling silent, he watched her, seeming to search her face for something. Again Clara felt that warmth stealing over her body as she felt frozen in place. Thor shifted his weight and took a step closer, looking uncertain and almost mournful. Finally unable to resist, Clara lifted her hand to rest against his cheek. He covered her hand with his own, giving her a sad smile, before bending his head down closer to hers.

There was a hitch in her breathing. She closed her eyes and tilted her chin, her pulse racing as she waited to feel his lips meet hers. His breath was against her face, and then…nothing.

"Ah, this will not do," he said, turning away and letting go of her hand.

Her eyes fluttered open and she frowned. "Excuse me?" she asked.

"Forgive me, Clara—I believe we have overstepped proper bounds."

"Seriously?" Her cheeks were aflame with humiliation. "What about…before? I kissed you in New York, the first time you brought me back. You didn't seem to mind then."

"What prince refuses a parting kiss from a fair maiden?" he asked. "An esteemed envoy from another realm, on the other hand…" His words faded away as he made a vague gesture. "We must be cautious now. I mustn't take advantage of you in this environment, and you cannot compromise your work for your people and mine—for my father, the king."

"Right," she said. "The king."

"Come now, it is getting late," Thor said. "We shall have another full day tomorrow. Now that I know how well you ride, perhaps you would like to see some of the villages nearby."

"Sure," she mumbled. "That'd be great."

Clara could not look at him after she mounted Vigdis again. She only knew to follow Thor by keeping his steed barely in the corner of her eye. She held back her own mount, discouraging conversation, but then he urged his horse into a canter again, and she had to wonder if he even noticed her annoyance.

_Men, _she thought. _Even when they're demigods, they're clueless._

At the stables, had she bothered, Clara would have noticed that he was in a duller mood than when they first left for their ride. Her own mood kept her focus inward; it was in an oppressive silence that they walked back to the palace. This time, he did not see her to the door of her chambers, but bid her good-night in a corridor nearby. It might have been a new effort to keep to those "proper bounds," but it did not help her temper.

Clara turned away Herdis' offers of assistance that evening, wanting instead to be alone. She dressed for bed only to toss and turn between the sheets, unable to keep her mind from playing out alternative versions of the evening.

_I am such an idiot_._ I'm in love with a prince—from another planet. Shit. I can't believe this._

If she were less terrified or annoyed at herself—or at him—she would have broken down in hysterical laughter.

Finally admitting defeat in her efforts to sleep, she decided instead to spend some of her computer's battery power on a few drafts for her blog. In the sitting area, she sat cross-legged on the floor and pulled the laptop out of her bag. She tried to type up descriptions of what she had seen and done that day, struggling to minimize her personal feelings. She saved the document and started another one, writing an objective list of her activities of the past 24 hours. She had trouble focusing even on that.

No matter what she tried, she kept thinking of Thor. Even after what he had said, even when she had been embarrassed and furious, her mind would not be distracted. She made a mental note to return to the vineyards with her camera, saved the second document, and put her computer away.

_I have to tell him, and probably sooner rather than later. _She groaned and flopped back onto the floor. _It will make things awkward, but they're going to be awkward either way._

Boundaries be damned, there was no other way. The only decision left was when.


	17. Over the Hills and Far Away

**A/N: Hey all, sorry this has taken so long. Won't give you the excuses, just an apology.**

**For this chapter, a couple things to note: it involves a different side of Thor than what I've been exploring so far, which might be a little surprising and/or jarring. The other thing is, this chapter has a reference to how Mjolnir was made. The movie _Thor _says "forged in the heart of a dying star," but I'm tossing that out in favor of the traditional mythology (what little I know, anyway).**

* * *

Despite the awkwardness of their interrupted kiss and Thor's newfound propriety, Clara could not help but enjoy herself the next day. She had not realized until then how much she missed riding, and the delight of an entire day with Vigdis, Thor, and his stallion Bothvar crowded out her unease. She had grown claustrophobic within the palace and its grounds; a tour of the surrounding villages was a much-needed change in her experience of Asgard.

They began with a slow pace down the side of a mountain and along a stream—the horses as sure-footed as goats, despite their size. Clara held her breath and trusted Vigdis as they walked along a cliff. Her camera hung on its strap around her neck, but she dared not let go of the saddle and reins to use it. She did gather her nerve enough to turn and look up at how far they had descended. Above her head towered the golden palace, half-shrouded still in the mists of morning and altitude. She was now within the landscape that had been her first view of Asgard.

They reached level ground at last, and Clara breathed easily again. Thor reined in his horse and looked back at her as Vigdis caught up.

"You look pale," he said. "Did the climb down frighten you too much?"

"I'm fine now," she said, adopting a haughty tone. Amid the joys of riding and of travel, she remained indignant about the previous evening, determined to keep up with him in every way today.

Thor smiled, though Clara could not tell if he was responding to her tone or if he was simply pleased that she was not too shaken. He coaxed his horse back into motion, and Clara followed, this time allowing Vigdis to catch up so that they rode side-by-side.

She fell behind again, however, to take pictures, barely keeping her balance as she turned in her seat to use her camera on the views behind them. In-between photographs, she took in the environment. They came to a narrow, rocky passage that forced her to concentrate, riding single-file, until the path widened and the rocks yielded to another valley. They then began to climb a hill, away from the river.

"You are rather quiet today," Thor said, again letting her catch up with him. "Are you well?"

"I'm fine," she said again. "Just trying to get some good pictures."

"You shall have ample opportunity," he said. "We're almost to the nearest hamlet."

At the top of the slope, the ground flattened into a meadow. Across waves of tall grasses, she saw a collection of huts and thin columns of smoke. Again Clara paused to get shots of the distant village.

She was eager to see it closer, but as they rode forward, she became more self-conscious of her Midgardian wardrobe of jeans, Tshirt, and sweatshirt. In an Asgardian gown, she would have had to ride side-saddle, a technique she had never mastered. She wished for a cloak like Thor's, and made a mental note to ask Herdis about one later. Just before they were close enough for the townspeople to notice them, she drew the hood of her sweatshirt over her head.

"Will they recognize you?" she asked Thor. Even if they did not know him as a prince, his armor, richly woven cloak, and size was enough to draw attention and declare him a person of importance.

"Some will," he answered her. "Whether they do or not, they are obligated to show us hospitality."

Now they were close enough to draw stares—some curious, some fearful—from passersby. A few stray dogs and goats showed no interest in the newcomers. One man passed them, leading a cow in the opposite direction. Clara watched as he glanced up, frowning, before alarm spread across his face and he quickly looked down again. She turned to take several shots of him walking away with his cow. Looking at the last photo on the camera's screen, she couldn't help smiling. The man made her think of a tour guide in a living history museum in modern-day Sweden.

"We will rest the horses," Thor said, dismounting and leading Bothvar to a large water-trough by the well in the middle of the village. Clara followed suit with Vigdis. The horses lowered their heads to drink deeply. Clara patted Vigdis on her glossy neck before turning around, her hood still up, to take more pictures of their surroundings.

"Are _you _afraid of being recognized?" Thor asked.

Clara had not noticed how close he was standing beside her. She looked up to see that he was grinning at her.

"Not really," she said. "I just feel…exposed."

"Come inside, then," he said. He turned away, apparently unconcerned about the horses, though they had not been tethered.

Clara trailed behind, stopping to photograph two bare-footed children who froze in place to stare at Thor. Their inquisitive faces were full of admiration, and unlike the adults, they seemed unafraid. They were so in awe of the warrior that they never noticed the hooded woman pointing an otherworldly machine toward their faces.

She took the camera from her eyes just in time to see Thor duck into one of the buildings. A rhythmic clanging sound rang out from its doorway. Stepping inside and pushing away her hood, Clara began to cough, overcome by the hut's smothering heat and smoky air. Thor was busy greeting the other man inside and did not notice her discomfort.

"How well you look, great prince!" the stranger was saying. His face and arms were black with soot, making his eyes and teeth flash in the dim light. He was not as tall or broad as Thor, but his arms were well-muscled and his fingers thick with calluses.

"As do you, Ketill, as vital as ever," Thor said. He finally noticed that Clara had arrived. "Clara, meet Ketill, a great weapons forger of Asgard. Clara McKenna is our friend and visitor from Midgard."

"From Midgard?" Ketill repeated. He bowed. "It is my honor to meet a lady from beyond this realm."

"An ambassador, in truth," Thor said. "She will carry good word of us to her people, Ketill, so treat her with utmost courtesy, lest you earn a wrongful reputation."

The two men chuckled as Clara looked around the smithy. Several blades glinted menacingly from mounts on the walls. Unworked metal and other raw materials were scattered across the one room. Clara thought of Nick Fury's interest in Asgard's weaponry. Would he believe her if she told him their arms supplier was a blacksmith right out of Colonial Williamsburg?

"May I take some pictures in here?" Clara asked Ketill.

"I must refuse a Midgardian lady nothing," he said. Clara knew he had no idea what she was asking. At the first flash from her camera, he recoiled and blinked rapidly, astonished.

"This tool she wears captures images of anything she points it toward," Thor explained to the blacksmith. "It works faster than the fastest painter or carver in Asgard."

Ketill whistled. "I never knew the Midgardians had such powerful magic, Your Highness."

The two men watched as she wandered around the room. Clara tried to suppress her self-consciousness as she photographed the fire, the forge, and the weapons on the walls. Even when she was finished, Thor and Ketill had not tired of observing her.

"So did you make that hammer?" she asked the blacksmith, gesturing toward Mjolnir, which hung from a special belt around Thor's waist.

"Alas, my lady, that honor was not mine. Such a weapon is beyond my own skill."

"Mjolnir was forged by the dwarves Sindri and Brokkr," Thor explained. "Ketill's skills benefit the palace guards and many other warriors of Asgard."

"I see," Clara said.

"Your Highness," Ketill said, "I know not of your business in the village, but if you are hungry, I would invite you to my home. Ingun would feed you well, and we would be honored by your company."

"We would be glad to," Thor said.

Ketill led them to a hut just a few paces behind the smithy. Despite the solemnity with which he moved, Clara saw an eager sparkle in his eyes. The American in her was troubled by any groveling before a monarch, but Thor seemed the subject of true esteem, not a figure to be feared. Besides, as a frequent traveler, she appreciated hospitality.

In the light of day, Clara saw that Ketill's dirt and soot concealed his fair skin and brown hair. He was not particularly young or good-looking, but his warmth and energy made him seem youthful and attractive. Likewise, his wife's pale eyes were aged and her flaxen hair graying, but the healthy glow in her skin would have been envied by younger women on Earth.

If Ingun was disgruntled by the sudden visitors, she did not show it. She was obviously nervous in Thor's presence, but he had been right when he told Clara that people were obliged to show them hospitality. Ingun treated Thor with reverence and Clara with kindness, but with less open curiosity than her husband.

At the table, Clara struggled to choke down a cup of buttermilk, a bowl of day-old stew, and a hunk of stale bread, but she knew not to complain. The offered food was probably all that Ketill and Ingun had. The idea made her feel guilty. She could not help but wonder why Thor would compel them to follow rules of hospitality—he could hold a feast at the palace whenever he wanted. Then Clara caught a flash of delight in Ingun's eyes and the dignified way Ketill waited on them, and she realized that, to this couple, the prince's presence in their simple home was worth the sacrifice.

Before they left, Clara did her best to offer a hasty explanation of how her camera worked and how she planned to use the photographs. Ketill and Ingun eagerly allowed her to take pictures of their home, hearth, possessions, and selves, though Clara knew they would "refuse a Midgardian lady nothing."

After a half-hour's ride, they came to another hamlet, but this one held less significance for Thor. He introduced Clara to no one, and did not ask for reception from any of the villagers. This type of visit was repeated twice more before he decided that it was time to return to the palace.

"I've enjoyed this," Clara said. "It's been nice to see a little more of the outside world. Well, _your _outside world. I guess all of Asgard is an outside world to me."

He only responded with a soft chuckle.

"The thing is," she continued, "it's been a whirlwind few days. I was going to stay a week, at least, to kind of settle into this job, but I think I better go home and get these pictures uploaded and try to arrange some more interviews. I think I'll be better prepared this time."

"That is your decision to make, of course," Thor said. "Will you be returning tonight?"

"No, I'll get a good night's sleep and go back in the morning," she said. "I thought it would be weird without hearing traffic and all that, but I sleep better here than in my apartment."

"We must make sure this last evening of yours is a most enjoyable one."

She gave him a sidelong glance that was almost a sneer, but by then his eyes were on the road ahead of them. He did not seem to be teasing her this time; she felt her annoyance fade a little. When she remembered how much Thor had been through in the last weeks, she realized that he, too, was trying to do his best—and be respectable about it—under difficult circumstances.

_Tonight, _she thought. _I have to tell him tonight. Then I can go back to Earth and give him some space and let us both recover from the awkwardness._

They rode in silence for some time, until Clara remembered something unpleasant.

"I've been wanting to ask you about something," she said. "Remember back when we were talking about what Fury wants me to tell him, and I asked you if you have the death penalty in Asgard?"

"I remember, yes," Thor answered, looking serious and perhaps a little suspicious.

"Well…what happened to Kadlin?"

He frowned. "Why do you wish to know?"

"She and Herdis waited on me since my first day here. Herdis told me that her sister got in trouble. They were so nice to me, I'd just like to know what happened to her."

Thor stared straight ahead. Clara watched and waited for him to respond. The longer she waited, the more fearful she grew. A knot tied in her stomach, and her mouth went dry. She spoke again.

"Did you have her _killed?_"

His mouth twisted a little with exasperation. "No, you silly woman. But she _was _punished."

She chose to ignore the disdainful way he addressed her. "How?" she asked.

"It is a matter too small for you to worry about. Your people are well acquainted with theft, I know that much. You know there are consequence."

"I wasn't asking to put it on my blog," Clara said. "If that makes a difference. I liked Kadlin, and I was sorry to hear what happened. At least tell me if she's okay."

"She was well enough when she was banished from the palace. What happened since is not my concern."

Staggered, Clara had to let his words sink in before she could respond. "How can you be so _heartless?_" she finally asked. "Herdis said it was her first infraction. She served your family—she's one of your people. You don't even _care?_"

There was fire in his blue eyes when he turned toward her. "I am astonished, m'lady, that you fail to recognize the value of my time and attentions. I thought you would recognize your own privilege."

"Oh, forgive me," she said. "I guess you want me to kowtow like your blacksmith, and tell you how _honored _I am that you throw me scraps of your 'time and attentions.' Thank you, Your Highness," she added, her sarcasm growing thicker. "I don't deserve your _great favor_."

Thor sighed impatiently. "Do not make this a personal offense. A servant was caught stealing and was sent away; her punishment is complete. I am not Heimdall—I cannot see everything she does. As crown prince of Asgard, I must take on many more affairs of far greater importance."

Clara scoffed. "Well I'm glad I don't have to suffer under _your _rule!"

She dug her heels into Vigdis' side and sent the horse into a canter. In the back of her mind, she knew it was an ineffective gesture—Thor could certainly catch up to her—but she needed space and solitude. It helped to clear her head a little, with all the different thoughts and feelings and opinions crammed in there.

Gripping the reins, Clara lowered her head, hoping that Vigdis knew where she was going. Clara had been too busy taking photographs and following Thor to know how to get back to the palace stables on her own. She looked forward, but nothing was familiar; she could not even guess how much farther they had to go. Nervous, she slowed the horse to a walk and forced herself not to look behind her to see if Thor was following.

Clara let out a little groan of frustration. What a self-important, cold-hearted man! She was not sure whether to laugh or cry as she remembered a guy she had dated briefly in high school. The son of a state official, Kyle Whitlow was determined to be governor—then president. By his junior year, he was already convinced of his own importance and one of the most insufferable people she had ever known.

Clara's expression grew ever more sour. She hated that Thor made her think of Kyle, hated seeing this side of him. Of course, it would be stupid to believe that such power and privilege would never go to someone's head. She herself had acted out more than once in her life, taking advantage of her father's wealth and occupation. Still, she had hoped that Thor might be different—better somehow. But the more sweetness and hospitality she saw him demonstrate, the more disappointing his conceit.

"Not enough, though," she said aloud. She almost wished it _were _enough to disappoint her completely, to wake her up and wipe out her feelings toward him. Everything would be so much easier.

_Better than to think he's perfect and have my heart completely broken when I finally find out otherwise_, she told herself.

_Better not to think much of him at all_, came another thought. _You're still going to get your heart broken._

Finally she pulled Vigdis to a halt. The horse tossed her head before taking the opportunity to nibble some grass. Clara sighed. Asgard was such a different world, a whole other culture. She had no business having any romantic feelings toward anyone here. Besides the risk of heartbreak, she had to think of the potential for scandal. What a joke, that _she _had to worry about instigating a political scandal! And now, with her imagination wildly speculating about what happened to Kadlin, she had to wonder if her attraction to Thor might actually put her in danger.

_Oh Dad, _she thought, with a roll of her eyes, _wouldn't you be _so proud _right now_. _Isn't this what you always wanted for me?_

Her back stiffened and she clenched her jaw when she heard hoofbeats behind her. Still she did not turn around. Thor rode up on his steed, stopping him when the horses were neck-and-neck.

"You needn't have stopped," he said. "Vigdis knows the way back."

"I wanted to think," she said through gritted teeth.

"I see," he said. "Shall I give you something to think on?"

"I don't know, _shall _you?" Clara glanced at him with an upward flicker of her eyebrows.

"You have asked me for my trust, and thus far you have earned it," Thor said. "In return, you must trust _me, _that I strive for the good of Asgard, to exercise my power as I see fit. I am not yet king, but what I do, I consider best for all involved. We—my father and I—would welcome your good opinion, but would rather you refrain from telling us how to conduct our business."

Clara chafed at his scolding tone, but nodded. He had a point; it was too soon for her to try to tell them how things should be done in their land. She couldn't keep every opinion to herself, but she could try for now. At the very least, she might save it for her blog.

"I don't like to think there might be any injustice here," she said. She looked into his face and added, "Everything in Asgard seems too beautiful for that."

Unwillingly she thought of a dark figure with bitter green eyes, wasting away in an underground cell.

_Maybe not everything_…

"If only that were so," Thor said. When he smiled, her heart flipped over—and she hated both him and it for that. "You saw nothing wrong with the vineyards, at least" he went on. "Perhaps you would enjoy another visit there tomorrow?"

She shook her head. "I'm going back home, remember?"

"I'd forgotten already," Thor said. "We were going to make this a pleasant evening for you. I know Fandral especially would like to see to it." He grinned and winked at her. Clara's knuckles grew white as her grip tightened on the reins. Had they been standing and facing each other, she might have slapped his face.

_You bastard,_ she thought. _How can you be such an idiot? Then again, I'm the one who's in love with you. You're a stupid barbarian, but _I…_I should just be committed_.

* * *

Back at the palace, Clara went to her rooms to wash and dress for dinner. She was not used to riding so much in one day, and already felt the consequences. She lingered in the bath, the warm water soothing her aching legs, until she almost fell asleep. Her tumbling thoughts would not let her relax quite that much, however.

Even after the events of the day, the outrage and embarrassment she had felt, she knew she still had to go through with it, to tell Thor how she felt. She could not remember having feelings for someone who pissed her off so much—though maybe she could leave out that part. Even if he did not feel the same way, it might make him feel guilty about the way he spoke to her sometimes. He might become more careful about her feelings. Or, he might laugh in her face and mock her mercilessly. Whatever it was…she could deal with it.

After the bath, Herdis helped her dress. The maid arranged her hair while Clara sat at the vanity, her eyes closed. She took several deep breaths to try to gather courage and perspective. She was still and quiet, almost in a trance. When she opened her eyes again, she couldn't help but smile.

Clara had packed some of her favorite makeup from home for this visit to Asgard. Herdis had worked what might have been a kind of magic to tame Clara's auburn kinks into soft waves. The Asgardian gown felt both comfortable and flattering, the soft, dark turquoise fabric draped just so over her body, belted and accented with silver. Her confidence was higher than it had been in quite some time.

Her heart pounded as she walked briskly through the golden hallways. Grinning with anticipation, Clara entered the dining hall and looked around for Thor. In an instant, her smile vanished.

She had found Thor—with Loki at the table beside him.


	18. Puppet Girl, Your Strings Are Mine

"Clara," Thor said, standing from the table. She took a step back, all appetite gone. As Thor approached her, she considered turning around and fleeing the dining hall, but stood her ground. His eyes were bright and his smile wide. Clara thought he was pleased by the extra efforts she'd made with her appearance. Then he placed a hand on her shoulder and leaned down close to her ear.

"You must be surprised to see my brother here," he murmured. "He has become more cooperative these last days. I said nothing to you about it—I hardly dared hope…well. He's in an ill temper, of course, but I wondered…" Here he paused.

"Yes?" Clara whispered, prompting him, allowing the sight of his kindly face, so close to hers, to keep out darker thoughts of Loki.

"I thought, by being in the company of friends, away from poisonous schemes and the Tesseract's power…it may help him more fully realize his wrongs, and that they could be forgiven, if he allowed them to be. Surely better than languishing in a cell."

A chill slid up her back like a cold, seductive hand. She did not want to argue with Thor—particularly in front of the war criminal—but she had very strong doubts about his idea. Her gaze darted nervously toward the dining table.

This must have been Loki's first time out of his cell since being sentenced to isolation weeks ago. A loose chain connected his wrists. Despite Thor's hopes, it seemed that the Asgardians did not trust Loki enough to let him be completely without tethers. Clara would have been much more comfortable were he still gagged.

She forced a smile back at Thor. "He's your brother—obviously you have to do what you think is best."

He smiled and led her to a seat opposite his at the table. She could not help sending another anxious glance toward Loki. He gave her a vague look, as though she were nothing more than a particularly unusual centerpiece. Had she turned away sooner, she would not have failed to catch the venom of contempt and jealousy shimmering in his eyes. But her own eyes lingered just long enough to catch it. If he intended to intimidate her, he succeeded masterfully.

Her discomfort only increased when a servant arrived to inform Thor that Odin would not be joining them for dinner, instead holding a small council with several advisors.

"I wonder that he did not suggest I come too," Thor said when the man left.

"Surely he presumed you to be well occupied already," Loki said.

Clara kept her eyes on the opposite wall, but felt Loki's gaze boring into her. Fortunately, she heard other voices and footsteps coming from the hall. Lady Sif and the Warriors Three appeared in the doorway, speaking jovially to each other. All four of them froze in their tracks when they saw Loki, and Clara thought their expressions similar to what hers must have been. Loki only looked away with a slight roll of his eyes.

"My friends, join us," Thor said, beckoning them toward the table. They took seats with hesitation—Fandral and Sif on either side of Clara—and avoided looking at Loki.

"The Lady Clara thinks it best to return to Earth tomorrow. I promised her that we would give her a memorable time before then."

She smiled politely at the regretful murmurs that arose. "You really don't have to," she said. "It's not like I won't be back."

"Is something wrong?" Sif asked, with a side-glance at Loki.

"No," Clara answered. "I just feel like I have more to do there right now. I have a lot to talk about now, so I figured I should get started."

"And what have you done today that gave you so much to tell?" Fandral asked.

"Thor showed me some of the outlying villages," Clara said. "I took a lot of pictures."

"She rides as well as you, Sif," Thor said, grinning. "Vigdis took to her quickly."

"Is that so?" Sif looked a combination of incredulous and grudgingly impressed, but she smiled kindly. "Well done, then."

Being at the center of attention when Loki was also at the table made Clara even more uncomfortable. She sighed with relief as the dinner's first course was served. As usual, Thor and the other warriors tucked into their meals with enthusiasm, though Sif and Hogun practiced a little more delicacy. Clara simply tried to navigate the dishes, many of them still unfamiliar to her. Loki ate as little as he spoke.

"Did you see anyone in particular in the villages?" Sif asked Thor.

"We spoke with Ketill," he answered. "He is well, he and his wife as amenable as ever they were. He has been working on…new weapons."

"The ones for the treasury guards?" Volstagg spoke up.

Immediately there was silence around the table. Thor frowned, while Sif, Hogun, and Fandral could not resist casting nervous, suspicious glances in Loki's direction. Although she did not fully understand the situation, Clara had the idea that Volstagg had hinted at information that Loki was not meant to hear. She felt a hazy sense of disappointment and irritation. New weaponry for the treasury guards—likely meant to aid the Tesseract's security—was just the kind of information she would like to know. No doubt Thor considered it "a matter too small for her to worry about."

The reminder of her frustrations of the past two days distracted her so that she did not hear Fandral at first. He finally caught her attention again, and she asked him to repeat what he said.

"I asked: what had you in mind to make the evening special? Before you go away again."

She looked across the table, but Thor was muttering something to Loki. Well, perhaps he would notice in time. She turned back to Fandral and smiled.

"I haven't thought about it, but didn't you say something the other day about dancing?"

"Of course!" Fandral replied. "I had hoped for it, very much."

"We were out riding all day and I'm pretty sore, so don't expect too much from me," Clara said, trying to look innocent. "But for you, I think I can manage it somehow."

"I am not much for sorcery," Fandral said, taking the liberty to place a hand on her shoulder. She could tell that the mead was starting to affect him. "But I might have a way or two to ease your pains."

She felt a little sick in her stomach, but giggled convincingly, hoping Thor noticed the exchange.

Fandral's delight, however, quickly turned to a scowl. Clara followed his gaze and saw that Loki was watching them, his eyes narrowed slightly.

She felt a chill at her back—this time like the barest icy breath—upon seeing that cunning face. Like Thor, there was a regal vanity about him—even in chains—in the way he held himself, the way he spoke, the tilt of his chin. Thor demonstrated his princely arrogance with authority, physical strength, and great enthusiasm. Loki's was etched into his features like the unyielding marks of a tombstone—pale, forbidding, and cruel. Thor's exuberance and good intentions contributed greatly to his beauty; Loki's handsomeness was more aloof, and yet more savage. At times, the only sign of life was in his eyes. He seemed to see straight into her, and she abhorred him for it.

As Clara tore her attention away, she instinctively looked to Thor for help, but he was now engaged in a conversation with Volstagg.

"Is something the matter, _sir?_" Fandral asked Loki, as though the address itself was a bitter flavor.

"Only observing a skill at work," Loki replied. "Transparent though it may be."

"Skill at work?" Fandral repeated, his words beginning to slur slightly. "What _are _you on about?"

Loki smirked. The change in expression did not make Clara feel any better. "Nothing of importance, it seems," he said. "_The lady _seems to enjoy your company very much. It was not always so, I think."

"Really?" Fandral said. "Well, _I _think it is no concern of yours." He turned to Clara, who had gone pale. "Try to ignore him, my dear. Thor really shouldn't let that mongrel out without his muzzle."

Although Clara knew Fandral was speaking to her, she couldn't look away from Loki's face. As with Heimdall, she wondered if he could read her thoughts. It could not have been possible, and yet he seemed to guess at her motivations, even when she barely acknowledged them to herself. She began to wish she had already gone home to Brooklyn, far away from that sinister, viridescent glare.

"What is going on?" Thor asked, his attention caught by the sound of his name. "Loki?"

Loki shifted his eyes away and clenched his jaw before replying. "Ask Fandral and that little adventuress of yours."

"The Lady Clara and I have been trying to have a friendly conversation, and the Jotun whoreson seems to have a great problem with it," Fandral said.

His voice was casual, but his choice of words made Thor's face grow red and his eyes flare with anger.

"You do not speak of him so, Fandral," Thor said. "Not in my presence, nor _anywhere else_." His tone was dangerous, but the look on Loki's face was even more so.

"Thor, I cannot understand why you still insist on protecting him. He's done nothing to warrant your trust or regard—he is not even one of us!"

Thor stood, towering over the table, his shadow falling dramatically across Fandral. "Get out."

"Oh come now, Thor," Fandral said. "You can't be—"

"_Out!_" he shouted again.

As he stood from his seat and strode from the room, Fandral tilted his chin and shook out his hair slightly, obviously trying to salvage some form of dignity. The mead had hindered his swagger, and his exit from the dining hall would have been more humorous under a slightly different mood.

Remembering the episode in the dungeons during the festival, Clara cringed inwardly as she waited for Thor to turn on her next. Instead, he seemed to calm down, taking a seat again. He looked to Loki, ostensibly to say something reassuring, but when he clapped him on the back, Loki flinched away. Clara turned to Sif.

"What does he mean by 'Jotun'?" she asked quietly. "I've heard it before." Despite her intentions, Thor still heard her question.

"It is not important," he said before Sif could answer. "You needn't pay attention to what Fandral says—ever, really."

"You keep _saying that_," Clara told him. "Apparently _nothing_ around here is my business. Okay, I'm not Asgardian, I get it, but what am I doing here if you won't let me know what's going on?"

"It is…a family matter," Thor said. "I am sorry to disappoint you, but as I have asked you before, you must trust me in this. Fandral spoke without thought, likely from strong drink, and his words are best forgotten. Is that not so, brother?" he added, turning to Loki.

"As you say, Odinson," Loki said. "You have already deigned to share the table—Heimdall only knows what else—with this _mortal_. I suppose it makes no difference if you acquaint her with every other particular of palace life."

"Now, _you!_" Clara said, her anger outweighing fear again. "I've tried to be nice to you, in spite of everything _you've _done, and you're either being insulting, or you're spouting off vague, smartass remarks like some snarky fortune teller. Do you _really _think I'm so much beneath you?"

Loki looked back at her with what was almost—but not quite—surprise. There was something else there too, she thought. He seemed almost _pleased_ somehow.

"Excuse me," she said. She pushed back her chair and stood up. "I'm…I'm done."

She did not look back, not even at Thor, as she left the dining hall. Out in the corridor, she listened for footsteps, but heard nothing. No one came after her. She made her way slowly toward her rooms, not intending to go there specifically—she just wanted to get away. After a couple minutes, she heard slower footfalls ahead of her. She peeked into the next doorway and saw a gallery full of weapons, arranged as in a museum. Fandral paced among them, agitated.

"Fandral?" Clara asked, stepping into the room.

"M'lady," he said, stopping to face her. Some of the haze had faded from his eyes.

"Have you been in here the whole time?"

"Why, yes. I always admired this ancient weaponry, swords used by heroes now in Valhalla. Helps to clear my mind sometimes."

"I'm sorry about what happened back there," she said. "I hope—"

"My dear, worry not your lovely head!" Fandral said. "Thor and I have been friends and fought together for…well, longer than a Midgardian would believe, let us say. There is no permanent rift, if that is what concerns you."

"Glad to hear it," she said. "But what…" She paused to lower her voice to a whisper. "Thor said not to pay attention to what you said about Loki, but…what did it mean?"

Fandral chuckled. "I think I've forgotten already."

"You called him a 'Jotun whoreson,' I think."

"I did, yes," Fandral said. "Well, that is what he _is_, my dear lady. He is not really Thor's brother—he is not even of Asgardian birth. He is a Jotun, a Frost Giant. Odin found him as a baby after a battle in Jotunheim and raised him as his own."

"_Oh_," Clara said, feeling idiotic as the realization came over her. "Thor told me about when you tried to invade Jotunheim, when he was banished and Loki seized the throne. I didn't make the connection when you said that. Wow."

"A fine way to repay the Allfather, wasn't it?"

"But I thought the people in Jotunheim were your sworn enemies."

"The Frost Giants were the enemies of Asgard, yes, until the truce, which Loki helped break. When Thor destroyed the Bifrost to keep Loki from destroying Jotunheim, it did not really matter anymore, since there was no longer any easy path between the realms. That may change now that the Tesseract is again under Odin's protection, but at the moment it is neither here nor there."

"I see," Clara said, though she did not really see. Thor had called it "a family matter," but it sounded like a lot more than that. She certainly hoped Fandral was right, that it was not so significant now. She hated to think ill of a whole group of people, but if the other Jotuns were anything like Loki…She thought of his destruction, and shuddered to think of what an entire realm of the creatures could do.

Silence lingered for a while between Clara and Fandral in the weapons gallery. It was the longest she had ever spent in his presence without hearing him talk. For all his flippancy, what happened in the dining hall must have had _some _effect on him.

"So, can you tell me anything about these swords?" she asked.

Fandral was only too glad to oblige. They walked through cases and displays of swords, hammers, and maces. Fandral talked about the battles the pieces had seen, the warriors they belonged to, and the hands that had forged them. Listening to him, Clara felt for the first time that he actually knew what he was talking about. She wished she'd been able to take notes for her blog, but guessed that he would be only too glad to reiterate the information if asked.

When she had tired of the stories, she thanked him. "This was…unexpectedly fun. But I was just on my way back to my room. I just can't handle being around that guy. Loki, I mean."

"You cannot spend this evening in your chamber, all alone!" Fandral said. "Shall we go see if Thor is still unhappy with me? His temper may have cooled by now."

Clara hesitated. "I…I don't know."

"Oh, nothing to fear," Fandral said, "Thor loves his brother to a fault, but he won't let him get away with any more nonsense."

_Nonsense, _she thought. _All that death and destruction…just nonsense?_

When Clara finally consented, she and Fandral began the walk back to the dining hall.

The evening—this whole trip—had certainly not turned out as she'd hoped. Having to manage his brother, Thor had not noticed Clara as much as he might have done otherwise. She had been counting on his attentions to help her tell him how she felt. Now, he was too distracted by Loki's rehabilitation to notice her much. She wondered if telling him about her feelings was still the right thing to do. Maybe she should just suck it up, push sentiment aside, and do her job.

Then there was Loki—his and Thor's relationship, the truth of his heritage. His being a Frost Giant did not make much of a difference to her, but it seemed to matter a great deal in Asgard. Was that why they did not want him to know about the new weapons for the treasury? There was so much in this land, this whole other world, that Clara did not know and could not comprehend. Once more, she wondered if she was not in over her head. Maybe she couldn't even do the job right.

_I'll see how it goes this time when I get home_, she told herself. _Maybe Tony will still help me, even if I was kind of awful to him last time I saw him._

"I say, Thor, shall we call a truce?" Fandral said loudly as they reentered the dining hall. "I had every intention of obeying the crown prince and leaving his presence, but this poor, dear lady insists upon having my company for this, her last evening in Asgard for we don't know _how _long!"

Sif rolled her eyes while Volstagg appeared to be trying not to laugh. Hogan was quieter than usual, as he had left the room entirely. Clara gave Fandral a confused look before she saw Thor frown. Still, he was not as angry as before, though his voice was heavy with warning when he spoke.

"It is not I with whom you need a truce, Fandral. It was not I whom you have offended so callously."

"Spare us all your attempts at diplomacy," Loki snarled. "When I have need of your defense, _Your Highness_, I shall call upon it myself."

"Well, then," Fandral said, a trifle too cheerfully for the atmosphere. "I suppose this bygone is as gone-by as it ever will be. And look! The musicians are arriving."

"Musicians?" Thor asked.

"Yes, I took the liberty of having the palace's best attend us here for the final course."

"We just finished the last course, Fandral," Sif said.

"And what a superb meal!" Volstagg said. "So sad that it has to be over so soon."

"Then some after-dinner music may help with digestion," Fandral said. "With your eating habits, Volstagg, your digestion needs all the help it can get."

He ducked as Volstagg sent his empty goblet sailing toward his head. Everyone laughed—except for Loki, whose existence seemed forgotten for the moment.

"Come, Lady Clara, you'll be more comfortable over here," Fandral said.

This particular dining hall was divided into two areas. The long tables—most of them empty except for well-attended banquets—stood on a floor several steps above the other half of the room. The lower half consisted of luxurious sofas and cushions arranged in a wide semi-circle. In the gap stood a quartet of musicians, playing on what looked like flutes, a lyre, and a drum. They struck up a bittersweet tune as Fandral led Clara toward one of the sofas.

"Unless you would like that dance now?" he asked.

"I don't know if I'm really gonna want to dance," she said.

"I must change your mind, then," he said.

"Do you have to learn dancing here?" Clara asked. "Like for cotillion or court etiquette?"

"Something like that," Sif said, coming to sit on Clara's other side, as she had at dinner. "I can't speak for the men here, but I had to. I've forgotten it all by now—not much use in battle."

Servants emerged, seemingly from nowhere, to offer more drinks and after-dinner sweets. Gradually the others joined them at the seating, Thor and Volstagg sitting on either side of Loki. Clara would have been amused—Loki was beginning to look like a surly teenager made to attend a family movie night against his will—were she not constantly remembering that he was, _literally, _a cold-blooded terrorist. Unwilling to let him spoil what was left of the evening, she looked away, concentrating on the music.

The music from the strange instruments was not what Clara was used to hearing. Yet every once in a while she would catch a string of notes, a chord, that seemed familiar. It pulled at her heart, but she could not have explained it any better than that. The second song was livelier than the first. Fandral grabbed Clara's hand and pulled her to her feet.

"I don't know—" she started to say.

"I'll teach you!" he said.

The song was over long before Clara got the hang of the dance—an odd combination of a waltz, a minuet, and a jig that made her feel like she was living out a Jane Austen movie, or maybe _Gone With the Wind_. At Fandral's request, the musicians played the same song again. Despite her inexperience, she was enjoying herself, and her focus on learning was at least a distraction from the fact that everyone else was watching them. At one point, however, when Fandral's back was to the others and his hands on Clara's waist, she glanced over his shoulder and caught Thor's eye. He looked less than content, and it flustered her so that she tripped and lost her rhythm.

Thor was not _too_ discontented, however. When the musicians began another song, he and Sif joined them, allowing Fandral to teach Clara a dance that involved switching back and forth between partners. She looked nervously over at Loki, but he brooded silently as Volstagg watched over him.

When the tune was concluded, they turned to the sound of clapping from the doorway.

"After-dinner music—what a wonderful idea," Frigga said, coming toward them. "Clara, I hope you are enjoying yourself?"

"Yes, thank you, Your Highness," she said. "But I think I'm done dancing. I'm still sore from horseback riding."

"Oh, come now!" Fandral said.

"I _told _you!"

"My queen," Fandral said, bowing to Frigga. "May I request your partnership in the next dance? It would be the greatest honor, and a balm to my wounded vanity at being so unceremoniously jilted."

"Nothing would please me more," the queen said kindly.

Frigga, Fandral, Thor, and Sif took their places for the next song. Clara turned around, prepared to enjoy a seat, but her smile froze. To her horror, Volstagg had managed to nod off. Loki still sat, glaring at her with what seemed undue hatred, even for him. His chains made the lightest clinking sounds as he raised one hand slightly and beckoned her toward him with two fingers. What compelled her to approach him, taking a seat nearer than was comfortable, she was never able to pinpoint. As soon as she sat down, he leaned toward her slightly.

"I know what he told you," Loki said, his voice low, only just audible over the music. "If you think you can use this knowledge for any of your schemes, little mistress, you are grossly mistaken."

"What are you talking about?" she asked.

"Do not play innocent, you fool."

"You mean…where you were born?" she asked. He did not speak and his expression did not change, but the faintest curl of his lip told her she had guessed correctly.

"I don't give a shit about who you really are, or where you came from," Clara said. "After everything you've done, even if you were Thor's biological brother, you'd still be a monster. Your heritage makes no difference there."

She stopped talking and pressed her lips together. Something agitated her mind, pulling at her memory, but it was unclear, and would likely remain so as long as she was sitting next to Loki. She could not remember anything in peace with him nearby. His whole body had been tense, but then he relaxed, as when a coiled snake changes his mind at the last moment and decides not to strike.

"You do not care," he said, again seeming surprised without quite looking so.

"That's what I just said."

To her astonishment, he sat back a little and turned to observe the dancers.

"An attractive couple, don't you think?"

He must have been referring to Thor and Sif. Jealousy was only one of the emotions that sliced through her. Clara took a deep breath before saying, "I guess. I'm surprised _you'd_ notice."

"Sometimes such things cannot escape notice." He looked back at Clara, his voice taking a foreboding tone. "As I've always thought, sentiment is as blinding as the hottest flame. For all your charms and schemes, it seems that I can see what you do not."

"Oh?" she asked, trying to sound disinterested. "Care to enlighten me?"

"I know why you, a stranger and a mere mortal, accepted a position in Odin's court. Less so for the chance to aid your homeland than for more…_somatic _purposes, shall we say. And I know where all your wretched, feeble efforts will lead. Better that you spare everyone their embarrassment—and you your own heart—by departing this realm forevermore."

"You don't care about my heart," Clara said, her voice shaking. "You don't even have one of your own."

Of all the things she had said, that last remark seemed to strike the hardest. She noticed too late. She saw the first sign of a sickly flush on his pale face, and his eyes burned so that they almost seemed red. Before she could react, with a clattering of chains his hands reached out and grasped her chin.

"Haven't I?" he hissed.

His cool, firm grip sent a chill straight to her core. She felt strength pulsating just beneath his skin and knew that he was deliberately holding back his power. The warning was clear: even with the chains, he could crush her jaw as easily as his brother could. For one irrelevant moment, Clara thought he was about to kiss her. In that same moment, she almost wanted him to.

He gave her a look of contempt just before he released her.

"Stay or go as you will," he said dismissively. "What difference does it make to me? If you wish to keep up your attempts to bed the high prince by stoking his jealousy, by all means. When your endeavors fail and you return to Midgard in disgrace, you will remember what I said."

Her eyes widened, and a sickened feeling came over her again, only worsening as Loki grinned.

"But do take care not to capture the _wrong _prize," he added. "Fandral does not need another conquest to gloat over."

She leaped to her feet and dashed out of the room without another word or look backwards. Once again, she heard no footsteps—only the music and Loki's words pursued her—as she held back angry tears and ran back to her rooms.

To her great relief, Herdis was nowhere to be seen. Grabbing her backpack, Clara flung open the wardrobe doors and stuffed in everything she had unpacked a few days before. She thrust her arms through the straps and grabbed her camera bag.

After checking to make sure she had not forgotten anything, she closed her eyes, took a breath, and twisted the stone in her ring.


	19. Debriefing

**A/N: Greetings, cherished readers! I want to give you all some helpful information with this update. This fic can sort of be divided into two major acts. It may not be incredibly noticeable without my pointing it out, but it's important to know because Act One is nearing its end. One big plot point will be tied up in a few chapters, but I don't want anyone to think that means the whole story is over! This story still has a long, long way to go, and Act Two will not reach the finale for _quite_ a while.**

**Now, I don't know exactly when Act Two (and therefore the whole fic) will end. However, I _do _have this entire fic plotted out, as I've said before. Not every minute detail, but the general ideas are written out, and I know exactly how it's going to end. In fact, just for fun, I wrote a first draft of the final scene this weekend. **

**I'm hinting at nothing specific, but I _am_ asking you to trust me (heh, I sound like Thor, don't I?). Even if I have to take an occasional long break from updating, or if a character's actions make you go "WTF?" rest assured that I know what I'm doing ... most of the time. This doesn't mean you can't make suggestions, speculate, or offer constructive criticism (or mindless praise!) - I welcome it all, and I can't tell you how much each review makes my day. But until you see "THE END" at the bottom of a chapter, know that a new chapter _will _eventually come.  
**

* * *

"I should get some compensation before I waste any more time helping you do your job," Tony Stark said before he popped another dried blueberry into his mouth.

Clara had returned to New York the night before, catching Tony in a free moment the next afternoon. Now she stood in the sitting area of Stark Tower's enormous foyer, waiting for his final answer to her plea for further help. It finally occurred to her—not without some amusement—that she was so used to being around the so-called Avengers that she had not even thought to pay Tony Stark for his time.

"I don't know what I could possibly offer, except another apology for being a bitch earlier," Clara said. "My father already supports you, you have more money and power than Bill Gates, and I highly doubt that I'm your _type_. Can't we just call this a philanthropic project?"

"Wow, you got me there," Tony said.

"Really?" Clara asked, laughing.

"No. But I told you that I'd help—so I'll help."

"Oh, thank God! I was afraid you'd make me do some kind of penance."

"Hold on. I didn't say I wouldn't."

She stopped laughing. "Oh."

"Chin up, McKenna, I don't want your soul. I just need you to get Rogers off my hands."

"What?"

"I have work to do, but Jimmy Stewart has nothing better to do than come over and poke around the lab. He's _constantly _asking questions and trying to break stuff. He's more destructive than the Hulk."

"So, in exchange for helping me juggle the media…you want me to babysit Captain America?"

"Are you disappointed? Afraid I'd want to sleep with you, or that I'd ask for your trust fund? Don't worry, you'resafe in either case."

"Ew. Thanks? I guess? But…what do you want me to _do?_"

Tony shrugged. "Get him a hobby, see if he'll do interviews with you, go swing dancing. I don't _care_, just get him away from here. Actually…" He hummed thoughtfully. "How loose are your standards, usually? I hadn't thought to specify what you do with him, but I do know the good-old-boy needs a good old—"

"Do _not _go there!" Clara interrupted.

"Oh, right," Tony said. "You like your men exotic. _Really _exotic."

"If I agree to babysit Steve Rogers, will you stop harassing me?" she asked.

"Maybe. No guarantees."

"Fine," Clara said. "I'm busy today, but if he's free tomorrow…?"

"I'll call you," he said.

She made a derisive noise. "How many women have you used _that _one on?" He looked genuinely ticked, and she raised a hand in defense. "Going now."

Clara found a nearby cafe with wi-fi and settled down at an outdoor table. Right after getting back from Asgard, she went online just long enough to keel over from the number of emails in her inbox and then import photos from her camera. Now, she hoped to answer those emails and draft at least one blog post before she went home.

For the most part, the tasks kept her busy enough to keep her from thinking too much about Thor, Loki, and why she left Asgard so suddenly. Occasionally, however, her mind—or was it her heart?—would start to wander, asking why her disappearance had not been important enough for a pursuit. Thor had the means to travel; he could have come after her the moment he knew she had left. He might have sent Sif or Fandral instead, if he could not be parted from his brother.

Her train of thought completely rerouted, Clara remembered Thor and Sif dancing together. Loki was right; they _were _an attractive couple. Her heart sank as another idea came to her. No one but Loki saw her leave the dining room. For all the others knew, she had retired quietly to her room and gone to bed. What if, even now, no one in Asgard even realized she was gone? She was not sure which was worse—that her departure went completely unnoticed, or that it was known, and nothing done about it.

_But there's Heimdall, _she thought. _He can see me now, right? Would he have told Thor what happened?_

Her breath caught for a moment. Heimdall must have seen her exchange with Loki. Would he tell Thor about it? Maybe it wasn't that important, considering what he must see every moment of every day. Did Heimdall always have to stand watch, sharing his observations only when he was directly consulted? Perhaps he just spoke up when what he saw and heard was a threat to the realm, like when they thought she really was in cahoots with S.H.I.E.L.D.

A calmer thought came to her. Heimdall could see her now—busy at her work, doing what she agreed to do. If he told Thor about it, unaware of her anxious thoughts, Thor could have assumed she went about her duties with a peaceful heart. In that case, he had little reason to be worried enough to come after her. Still…he might have followed her if he were desperately in love. It was now apparently that such was not the case.

_It's a good thing I never told him how I felt after all_, Clara thought. Then, she remembered: _Loki knows. He's known this whole time._ Would he say anything to Thor? Groaning, she lowered her head to the tabletop, drawing puzzled looks from the other cafe patrons.

_He won, _she thought._ Loki wanted me out of there. I don't know why, but he did, he knew what to say, and it worked. But if Thor doesn't care about me…in that way…what difference does it make? Why would Loki try to get me to leave?_

Clearly he was not trying to keep Clara from having her heart broken. It was just as unlikely that he was trying to protect his brother from her unwanted advances.

_He probably just doesn't want some lowly mortal stinking up his realm._

She raised her head as she felt anger building up inside her.

_He's a Jotun. It's not _his _realm, either._

_Well, then, screw him_, she thought. _I may be a stupid girl with an unrequited crush, but _he's _just a prisoner, a criminal, a fallen prince. He thinks he's so much better than me, but _I _have a job to do. He can say what he likes and do what he likes, but it doesn't change the fact that Odin and Thor wanted me for this job._

It was enough to renew her courage. From here on out, she would be responsible and professional. From here on out, nothing that Loki—or even Thor—thought about her, or didn't think about her, would matter. Thor didn't feel the same way about her, and she would have to get over that. Loki didn't want her in Asgard, but _he _would have to get over _that_.

With a resolute nod, she turned back to her computer and her email inbox. She agreed to several blog interviews, podcast guest spots, and guest posts. Most of them were relatively small outlets, until she got to a request from the _New York Post_, and groaned. It wasn't her first choice, but she had to admit, her experiences _were_ pretty sensational. She decided to save that one to think about later.

She jumped when she felt her phone vibrating in her pocket. It was a restricted number. All her resolve melted away, replaced by a new fear.

"Ms. McKenna, this is Natasha Romanoff," came a woman's voice. "Now that you're back in New York, Director Fury would like a debriefing. We'll be sending a S.H.I.E.L.D. vehicle to pick you up at your current location in ten minutes."

"I'm…kind of…busy today," Clara said.

"I'm sure you are, Ms. McKenna, but this has to take precedence. Naturally we ask that you refrain from publishing any information before then, and that you stay where you are until further contact."

"Naturally," she said.

"Ten minutes," Agent Romanoff repeated, before ending the call.

Clara stared at her phone with a combination of disbelief, disgust, and horror before she finally put it down on the table.

"Heimdall, I hope you heard that," she muttered.

* * *

"I knew she intended to leave today," Thor muttered as he paced the gold-marbled floor. "But why so suddenly?"

"You have the easiest way to find out, my son," Frigga said.

The two of them were in the lounge of the queen's apartments. Music, dancing, and laughter had long ago ceased. Thor had gone to Clara's chamber early that morning, hoping to invite her to breakfast before she returned to Midgard, but found every hint of her existence removed. After a stern inquiry, Herdis admitted that she had not seen Clara after helping her dress for dinner, and there had been no sign of her all morning.

Thor stopped his pacing. "Do you think I ought to go to Midgard, to ask her…?" His words trailed off.

"What do _you _think?" Frigga asked.

Thor ran a hand through his already tousled hair. "I…think…that I ought to avoid any action at present. If she left—if she took everything—she must have had a reason. I will not trouble her for it. If she does not return in a few days, I will seek an explanation."

"Be careful you do not tarry too long," Frigga said. "She might have left with hopes that you would follow. I cannot speak with certainty, but…it is possible."

"Why would she do such a thing?" Thor asked.

Frigga smiled. "I cannot explain it in logical terms, but if you think on it for a little while, perhaps you will understand." Her expression sobered, as did her tone. "But she is not in danger?"

"I thought not," Thor said. "I knew she would return to Midgard today, as she has done many times. I shall ask Heimdall, just to be sure."

Frigga nodded as Thor strode from the room and through the palace. The Bifrost was long demolished, but Heimdall was still to be found standing sentry at the remaining end. He could have seen and heard from anywhere, but perhaps he preferred his old position out of habit.

"Good Heimdall," Thor said. "Will you tell me, what do you see of the Midgardian Clara McKenna?"

"She is well and safe," Heimdall replied, his voice lower and even more booming than Thor's. "She moves through her city, seeing to the tasks you have set her on."

Thor felt a tension—one that did not even realize he carried—fall from his shoulders. "How early did she leave this morning?" Thor asked.

"She left, not this morning, but the evening before," Heimdall replied. "She returned to her rooms, quite upset. She had been speaking with Loki before she left the dining hall last night."

The tension returned, joined by the beginnings of a headache. "Loki." Thor sighed. "What did he say?"

"He warned her not to use her knowledge of his birth against him, for whatever schemes she had in mind, and he suggested that she leave the realm. When she told him that he had no heart, he seized her by the chin and challenged that statement, but then he released her and said that her actions made no difference to him, but to remember what he said."

"I must keep them separate in future," Thor muttered to himself. "What schemes does he mean? How did she know about his birth?" he asked Heimdall. "I distinctly remember refusing to tell her."

"Fandral told her about it in the Weapons Gallery," Heimdall explained. "Before they returned to the dining hall."

Thor clenched his jaw, exasperated. "Thank you, Heimdall. That is all for now."

Thor's mood darkened as he returned to the palace. He felt like throttling _both_ Fandral and Loki. First, perhaps, he ought to speak to his brother about what had upset Clara. Things with Loki seemed to go so well when she was not around. He was a little less sullen, less caustic in his words, a bit more obliging. He had submitted to his chains, for example, when Thor suggested that he come out of isolation for the evening. Perhaps he still needed the muzzle, though.

Thor turned to go down the staircase toward the dungeons just as he heard a voice call out to him. He looked around to see Varin hurrying toward him.

"High Prince," Varin said, "His Majesty the King is in his throne room, in talks with the sorcerers, and he requests your presence as well."

No doubt it was more business with the treasury and the Tesseract. Thor thanked Varin, who rushed away again, back to his other tasks.

"You _will _explain yourself, brother," Thor muttered to himself on his way to the throne room.

* * *

"Why do I have the feeling you're not telling me everything you know?" Fury asked Clara. They were sitting in the same interrogation room where Fury had first made S.H.I.E.L.D.'s offer to her.

"Ironically enough, I can't tell you that," she answered. "I'm sorry you're disappointed, but I don't know if you want me to tell you what I _know_, or what you want to hear."

"I want to hear what you know," Fury said slowly, his voice low, his expression perturbed.

Clara shrugged. "They're not letting me in on the big government secrets yet, so there's nothing much to say other than what I already told you. Asgard is one big Renaissance festival—all swords and magic and horsepower. I met the blacksmith who makes armor and weapons for the palace guards."

"You were serious about the blacksmiths."

"Beautiful handiwork—real _Lord of the Rings _type stuff. Nice guy, too. Oh, but he didn't make Thor's hammer. _That _came from a couple dwarves."

"Dwarves," Fury repeated. He clearly saw no amusement in any of this.

"I didn't meet _them_, though, but I'm sure they're real standup guys. Anyway, I also heard that the palace is boosting security in the treasury, where I assume they're keeping the Tesseract. Thor wouldn't give me details, but in general, everything in Asgard seems all nice and comfy-cozy."

She and Thor had not worked out a plan for what to tell S.H.I.E.L.D., but so far, a plan was not needed. Clara had not been in Asgard long enough to understand their magic or any other sources of power. The vast majority of what she had learned would go on her blog, so she had no qualms about sharing it with Fury first. Besides, she was sure she would have to feed S.H.I.E.L.D. bogus information eventually. Future lies would be more convincing if she was already known for truth and compromise. As she learned from reading George Orwell, "If you kept the small rules, you could break the big ones."

"And the prisoner?" Fury asked.

Clara blinked. Her palms began to feel clammy and a too-familiar chill tickled her shoulder blades. Here, for whatever reason, she could not bring herself to practice full disclosure.

"Prisoner?"

"Loki," Fury specified.

"Right. Well, he's isolated," she said. "He's in a dungeon, guarded by magic and…guards. Armed guards, obviously. I've seen all this myself."

"And that's his punishment?" Fury asked.

"Well, I don't know if they did anything to him _before_ putting him away. Maybe they sent him to prison without his supper. But he's neutralized, so the god of mischief is pretty much the god of nothing now."

"Is that all the information you have?"

"Yes, sir."

"I was hoping for something more useful, Ms. McKenna, after all the time you spent there."

"I don't know what you want me to do, then," she said. "I was there a few days. I can't storm the palace or force Odin to tell me anything. If you still want me to _spy _on them, you're going to have to let me be more subtle and take a while."

He paused, studying her face for a moment, before he continued. "One more thing, Ms. McKenna—how do you manage to travel to Asgard?"

"Magic," she said, shrugging again. Her hands were folded and resting innocently on the table, the ring turned in toward her palm as before. They had frisked her, but the jewelry had gone unnoticed. "The power of positive thinking. The Tesseract makes it possible somehow. I didn't ask for specifics."

Fury let out a long, slow sigh.

"Try to do better when you go back," he said before pushing back his chair and standing up. Clara watched as he left the room. A few minutes later, Agent Romanoff came in, holding a piece of paper and her usual stoic expression.

"You can go home now," she said. "This is for you." She held out the piece of paper, which Clara stood up to take. It was a check.

"That's…" Clara cleared her throat. "That's a decent amount of zeros."

"It might be an indecent amount if your information were more useful," the agent said. "Fury would like you to bear that in mind next time."

"Yeah, I'll do that," Clara said dryly. Agent Romanoff's expression did not change.

"You know, I suggested that Fury put you through some basic espionage training to help you get this done—don't panic, he turned down the idea." Clara sighed in relief and relaxed her frantic expression, but didn't get the chance to reply before Natasha continued. "He thought it would look better if you kept some of your naiveté—and he's had enough security threats to deal with anyway."

"Well, it's nice to know I'm a security threat," Clara said, folding the check and tucking it into her jeans pocket. "It's really trendy these days."

The agent did not comment, but led Clara out into the parking garage, where an unmarked vehicle awaited her. This time, no one joined her when she climbed into the backseat to be driven back to her apartment. Before they reached her destination, her phone rang again.

It was Tony.

"I got you the _Huffington Post_, _Vanity Fair_, and a spot on _Fox and Friends_," he said, not bothering with a greeting or introduction.

"_What?_" Clara gasped. "You're kidding me! When?"

"I called in some favors. _Fox_ tomorrow morning at seven, _in the studio_, so come back today to go over some things, since I won't be there to save your ass this time. _HuffPo_ the day after that, and _Vanity Fair _in…two weeks? Maybe three. I have to double-check."

"You are _amazing!_"

"So I hear," he said. She could hear his grin through the phone.

"That's…quite a range of perspectives, too," Clara said. "Tony, thank you. Really. I can't even…yeah. Thanks so much. You _are _my hero, seriously."

"When you're used to this and get your act together, get yourself a PA, or an agent or something. And don't forget, you _owe _me."

"Yes, I do, and I have to say, you're making me rethink my previous reservations."

He chuckled. "Speaking of which, someone else wants to talk to you."

She held her breath as her heart skipped a beat. She had no idea who it was, but she hoped…

"Miss McKenna?"

_Oh_.

"Hi, Steve," she said. "It's…Clara to you."

"All right then," he said. "I, uh, I had a question for you."

"Shoot."

"I feel awful about what happened with S.H.I.E.L.D. I'm sorry I stuck my nose in where I shouldn't have. I don't know if you can forgive me, but I was wondering if I could take you out to dinner—maybe tomorrow?—as kind of a peace offering, at least?"

The first thing that came to Clara's mind was that she wanted to pawn him off on Safia, who would be much more appreciative. Then Clara felt guilty. She _was _still angry at him—he had caused her a lot of unnecessary grief. But it was almost impossible not to like the poor guy. Besides, it hadn't been that long since he was returned to civilization. He needed a fun night out with some companionship, even just platonic.

She agreed.

"Swell," he said, sounding relieved. She almost got teary-eyed when she realized that he probably hadn't asked a girl on a date in 70 years. "Tony just recommended a place to me. He says it's jacket required."

"Sounds swanky," Clara said.

"Eight o'clock okay?"

"I look forward to it."


	20. So Give Me Hope in the Darkness

**A/N: You all are wonderful. Thank you for joining me in this jaunt through my imagination and my insane fic. By way of thanks, and as a pre-Thanksgiving gift to my American readers, please enjoy a new chapter, one that is quite long and absolutely _full _of every emotion conceivable, and a bit of comic relief. **

* * *

"_Loki!_" Thor's voice resonated off the dungeon's stone walls.

Loki raised his head at the tone. He could easily guess the reason for Thor's temper. He stayed seated, keeping his expression neutral, but he was intrigued. After a venture from his cell the evening before, this day had been a tedious one. An argument with Thor—even if Loki only watched while he shouted abuse from the other side of the partition—would break the monotony, at least.

Thor's footsteps grew louder until he appeared, clearly furious, in the window.

"Something troubles you, Your Highness?" Loki asked, allowing himself a smile.

"Clara left Asgard and returned home," Thor said. "Heimdall says she was distressed—and that _you _spoke to her. It can be no coincidence that she departed so soon after. What did you say to her?"

Loki dropped the grin. "I was given to understand that yesternight was already to be her last here, at least for some time. How could _I_ have made it so?"

"She was to leave this morning. Now, tell me what you said—I will not ask you again."

Loki's eyebrows darted upward. This promised more than a moment's diversion; he was genuinely surprised. He had long known of an attraction between Thor and the Midgardian, but assumed it was a brief infatuation, something to pique and satisfy the prince's vanity. Yet Thor seemed to have genuine affection for her, with real and unselfish concern.

No, it could not be possible, Loki thought. Thor had been weaned on years of praise: acclaim for his strength and speed, his victories in battle, his loyal friendship. Naturally, he would spend the rest of his life seeking out more of the same—though it needn't come from something so _lowly_. Thor had simply not yet tired of the girl's admiration, which gave him a mere appearance of being in love. Of course he would be upset that someone chased his toy away.

Even Loki thought Thor deserved better, for all his faults. Could he not see the ridiculousness of the situation? A human in Asgard—honored guest and member of court—was too ludicrous for words.

It was worse than that; it was an insult. It stung Loki's pride like a swarm of black flies. He, a prince, forced to endure—in chains, no less_—_the company of a creature that should be under _his _command. It would not do. Loki minded less her diplomatic role—let her learn the consequences of being Odin's pawn!—but he did not relish the thought of her persistent presence in the palace. Not now, when he was permitted to leave this dank room for a short while every few days. When he was isolated here, it hardly mattered, but he could not bear the sight of her whenever he had a moment of freedom—or the barest semblance of it—to savor.

Unfortunately, this business with the human was unfamiliar territory. In their youth, of course, there was no shortage of Asgardian maidens overeager to please the crown prince. Thor had not scorned their adulation, but Loki could not remember him being truly in love with any of them. Otherwise, Loki might be more able to gauge Thor's interest in the Midgardian—and decide how best to discourage it.

He stood and slowly walked toward the window. "Wherefore this frustration, brother?" he asked. "Perhaps her early retreat foiled your plans. Did you mean to make sport of her at last?"

"Have care how you speak, Loki," Thor said.

"I assure you," Loki said, "had I known of your desires, I would have better done so. You must forgive my surprise, though. I never realized your taste ran so towards the common."

Thor's mouth twisted in disgust as his hand instinctively reached for Mjolnir hanging from his belt. "Loki, you tread on perilous ground. I swear to you—"

"Spare me your oaths," Loki said, raising a hand. "You misunderstand me—as is so often the case. I had higher hopes for you. Higher than an ordinary human, at the very least."

"Did you speak so to _her?_" Thor asked, disgusted. Loki wondered if he had taken a step too far.

"Of course not," Loki said. "Though I did warn her not to take advantage of…controversial details. I saw through her motives, and recommended that she depart the realm."

"I know not what motives you speak of, but it was not your place to ask her to leave," Thor said.

"Oh, I thought it in everyone's best interest."

"She was not your guest, nor is she in your pay. You have no say in her presence here."

"Her presence is an affront," Loki spat, losing his hold for a moment. Catching himself, he turned his back to Thor.

"What harm has she done you?" Thor asked. "You, who would destroy her city and enslave her people! How has _she_ offended _you?_"

Loki whirled back around. "Is it not enough that I am defeated and imprisoned _here_, where once I possessed the throne by every right? Must I be further humiliated and forced into the company of one of those creatures I would have conquered?"

Thor watched him, listening to his rage. "I have told you, Loki—if you think yourself so far above them, there is no throne within your rights."

"As if the insult is not enough," Loki said, moving to sit back down on the bench against the opposite wall. "The one who calls me _brother _still argues on behalf of a mortal strumpet."

"I will not hear her spoken of this way!" Thor shouted. "I am tempted to beat the injustice from you if I thought that would make a difference, but your head and your heart seem carved of the same stone."

The two stared at each other as the last syllables of Thor's scolding faded away. Loki fixed his eyes on Thor. Among the fury and disgust, Thor caught the hurt that he knew Loki meant to disguise.

"I am sorry, brother," Thor said softly. In a moment of alarm at what he had seen, Loki jerked his gaze away. "And I am sorry Fandral told Clara of your birth. I truly did not want him to. I would not wish her to find out, if it would cause you injury."

"That she knows of it makes no difference," Loki said. He smirked. "She said so herself." Thor began to smile in relief and gratitude. Loki added, "She thought me a monster already, she said. The new knowledge did not change her mind."

Thor sighed. "Surely you realize that your past actions would hardly endear you to her."

"Do you think I am injured by the opinion of such a wretch?" Loki scoffed. "Why should it matter?"

"I do not know, but it clearly does," Thor said. "You dislike her so intensely, _something_ matters in it."

Loki shrugged. "I merely say that you deserve better, but what is the use when I am heard and not regarded?"

"Clara was upset by what you said. Obviously _she_ regarded it somehow. Is there more to your words that night that you have not already told me?" Thor asked.

Loki's eyes wandered to the ceiling. "I remarked that you and Sif suited each other. I only thought to discourage some of the human's ridiculous ambitions. I believed your feelings for her to be merely transient, but it may have stirred whatever flimsy emotions a mortal is capable of. I may have guarded you from someone so meager."

Thor groaned. "And what did she say to your remarks?"

Loki allowed himself a soft snort of disdain. "Well, she was surprised that such a monster had feeling enough to _notice_, and was none too pleased. You are all the better for her leaving, I think. If she lacked the fortitude to endure a simple observation, she could not have loved you well."

A strange look came over Thor's face. Loki watched, still intrigued, but now a little worried.

"Do you think she might have loved me?" Thor asked.

Loki stared with disgust at such an unanticipated reaction. Was it possible that Thor had _doubted _the creature's attraction to him, rather than consider it his due?

"I think not," he said. "Humans are very obvious—you would have known by now."

Thor shook his head, looking almost in a daze. "Perhaps you are right," he said.

He turned back to meet Loki's eyes once more. Loki had never seen his expression so full of anxiety, indecision, and something that looked like helpless pleading. It was a far cry from Thor's usual cheerful conceit and oafish bravado. Loki gripped the edge of his seat, clenching his jaw to keep himself silent.

"I cannot tell you what hopes I had, Loki," Thor said with a flat voice. "But now, I…I do not know if you have encouraged them or dashed them."

* * *

"You were fantastic," Safia said as they walked out of the studio lobby and onto the crowded pavement, heading toward the subway station. "I think you're getting the hang of this being-famous thing."

Clara chuckled. "Thanks. Good to know, since I wanted to puke right before going on. And then about halfway through the segment."

"You didn't look it," Safia said. "Kept your cool and everything."

"I wanted to punch that stupid bint when she asked me if I was dating Tony Stark."

"Ugh, yeah. Good thing she didn't ask personal stuff about Thor."

"_Then_ I wanted to punch that guy who asked if Thor and Loki had ties to al-Qaida."

"Like I said—kept your cool," Safia said.

"People are _idiots_," Clara huffed.

"Yeah. A lot of people have been screaming for NASA and the military to develop technology to invade Asgard as payback," Safia said. "I guess it's not enough that the whole Chitauri army died? Then there's other people yelling about how no one knows for sure where Loki went or how those aliens _really_ died. Some say the government staged the whole thing. My dad wants me to move. He thinks it's too dangerous to live with you."

Clara groaned and shook her head.

"I know, it's crazy," Safia said. "I told him your connections made me safer with you than I'd be anywhere else. And I still think what you're doing is great, even if everyone else is freaking out, or don't believe you." She grinned and gently nudged Clara with her elbow. "And Thor _needs_ you, right?"

"Well, _somebody _does," Clara said. "The Avengers are either in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s pocket or they just want to keep out of the spotlight. Or they have better things to do, like Tony."

"_And _you're having dinner with Captain America tonight. I feel like I should hate you more than I do right now. You realize how many people would give up a limb—or three—to be in your shoes, right?"

"If two of those limbs are their legs, they couldn't _wear _my shoes," Clara said. When Safia rolled her eyes, she laughed. "Yes, I get it. I'd be thinking the same thing if I weren't me. But there's so much pressure, and Steve sure as _hell _didn't do me any favors."

Clara hadn't wanted to tell Safia the details about her meetings with S.H.I.E.L.D. She did not even want her roommate to know that such an organization existed. At the same time, she longed to tell someone about the added pressures upon her. She had finally told Safia that, thanks to Captain America, the Department of Homeland Security was keeping tabs on her.

"He probably honestly thought he was acting for the best. Don't be too hard on him tonight. It was sweet of him to try to look out for you, even if it backfired."

"Hey," Clara said, "just because a guy is good-looking doesn't mean he's trustworthy. I've been getting some _very _harsh examples of that lesson lately."

Safia looked at Clara with surprise. "Did you find out something horrible about Thor?"

"Nooo," Clara said. "Thor is perfect. Still. Well, maybe not _perfect_, he's got some issues—political stuff, and, okay, he's kind of arrogant—but he's pretty much as close to perfect as a guy can get. His brother though? Holy _shit_, talk about issues."

"So, were you saying…you think Loki is good-looking?" Safia asked nervously.

"Well…" Of course that's what she had meant, but she hadn't expected Safia to be so weirded out. "Yeah, in a serial-killer kind of way, I guess."

"How can you be good-looking in a 'serial-killer' way?"

"I dunno, criminals can still be attractive…I think. Oh! _Vampires _are kinda hot, right? They're technically serial killers. And isn't Jack the Ripper usually kind of sexy, at least in movies?"

"The only Jack the Ripper movie I've ever seen is _From Hell_," Safia said. "Johnny Depp was the sexy one in that, and he was the detective."

"I missed that one," Clara said.

"I think Bilbo Baggins ended up being Jack the Ripper."

"Wait, _what?_" Clara gasped. "As in, John Watson? How did I miss that?"

"No, not _that_ Bilbo, the old one."

"Oh, right," Clara said.

"Anyway," Safia said, "the _point _is that you think a serial killer is hot."

"No, I do not," Clara said. "Loki is just an example that looks aren't everything. I mean, not that he looks trustworthy anyway, I just mean he'd be handsome if he wasn't a complete _sicko_."

"Please don't become one of those women who write letters to guys on death row and fall in love with them," Safia said.

"I think I'm safe from _that_," Clara said dryly.

"Good, because I'm pretty sure this is how it starts."

"All righty," Clara said. "Time for you to shut up and help me decide what to wear tonight. And if you suggest something with stars and stripes, I will personally put you in the hospital."

* * *

Hours later, Clara sat in a dark restaurant, peeking over her menu and across the candles at Steve Rogers. She was still trying to choose an appetizer—crab cakes, prosciutto-wrapped mozzarella, or foie gras—and they were dangerously close to running out of things to talk about. The fact that this dinner was neither a business meeting nor a romantic tryst somehow made it more awkward. She would have suggested they chuck the reservation and go out for pizza if she didn't think it would hurt his feelings.

At least she had a decent view. He was indisputably handsome in a new, perfectly tailored suit. He managed to appear washed without looking uncomfortably scrubbed, and he smelled _fantastic_. She wondered who had helped him pick out his aftershave. Tony had referred to him disparagingly as Jimmy Stewart, and Steve maybe looked like he could have been an extra in a Frank Capra flick, but Clara saw no problem in it.

He couldn't have had complaints, either. Her casual small talk was a little rusty, and she had grown out-of-place in eateries like this, but she was _attempting _to be charming. And she thought she looked fairly gorgeous. The cobalt-shaded cocktail dress she dug out of the back of her closet had miraculously _not _smelled musty. It set off her fair skin and made her bright gray eyes almost blue. Safia had not let her envy get in the way of helping Clara put up her auburn hair in an elegant side chignon. When once Clara caught Steve looking at her, she smiled, making his face go red. She did that on purpose a few more times; it was the most fun she'd had so far.

"I'm going with crab cakes," she finally said. "I've never had enough crab cakes."

"Sounds good," he said, and nothing else.

The waiter came for their order—Steve chose foie gras after Clara taught him how to pronounce it—but left behind another silence hanging over the table.

She sighed. "Sparkling conversationalists, we are."

"I'm sorry," he said.

"You don't have to apologize," she said.

"That's what we're here for, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but you don't have to _keep _saying it."

"OK."

"So…" She was about to broach what could be a touchy subject, but she was out of ideas. It was time to get real. "Why don't you tell me about your family?"

"Well, I don't—didn't—have any brothers or sisters," he said. "My father died of mustard gas when I was young, and my mother died of TB. She was a nurse, caught it at work."

_Well, damn_. She didn't think it would be _that _touchy of a subject. "I'm so sorry to hear that," she said.

He smiled sadly. "I figured they were heroes long before I ever was."

_Good ol' boy. _"That's a nice way to look at it, I suppose."

"What about your family? Your dad's in politics, right?"

"Oh, well…yeah." Clara offered a basic description of her parents and her wayward sister, trying not to go into a lot of detail. Her parents—particularly her father—had been on her mind quite a bit lately, and not always with the warmest thoughts. She did return her mother's increasingly frantic voicemails, though, and promised to let her know the next time she was skipping town.

By the time their appetizers arrived, they had already discussed the menu's entrees—Steve choosing a filet and Clara ordering orecchiette—which prompted her to remark on the banquet in Asgard. They both snatched at the topic like a life preserver.

"I've been reading the, uh, blog," Steve said. "The photographs are incredible. No wonder you wanted to see it, it's beautiful country there."

"Yeah," Clara said, sighing. "Though I kinda wish I'd thought things through a little more before…that. I mean, asking Thor to bring me and everything."

"You've been through a lot," Steve said, which sounded odd coming from a man who had fought in World War II and more recently helped fight off an army of hostile aliens. "I guess you had no way of knowing what it would all lead to."

Clara picked at a crab cake with her fork. The sarcasm saturated her voice when she said, "That's for damn sure."

"If I can help, let me know. S.H.I.E.L.D. wants me to stay in New York for more testing, but between that, and Stark kicking me out of his lab, I haven't had much else to do lately."

It was a nice offer, but Clara was kind of getting tired of feeling sorry for him. And it wasn't like she trusted him to help her make up false information for Fury. "Maybe you could come with me on my next interview—back me up or something," she suggested, more out of pity than anything else. "But really, the actual work is the _least _of my problems right now."

He seemed to be concentrating on deciding whether or not he liked the foie gras; she wasn't even sure he was listening. But then he asked, "Then what's the biggest problem?"

She looked at him—his carefully combed hair, the nick in his clean-shaven face, and his absurd eyelashes—and suddenly felt _angry_. Why him? Why did Steve Rogers have to be the one sitting across the table from her in such a romantic setting, when she would have given nearly anything for it to be someone else? Alternatively, why _not _him? He was the sweetest man she had ever met by far, and not only was he good-looking—_not_ in a serial-killer way—he had that old-fashioned charm thing going for him. Yet she had spent this entire evening wishing for the company of a pompous prince who was short on table manners and long on _not _being in love with her.

It was a sign that she had grown far too accustomed to the company of the Avengers that she could even find it in herself to be ungrateful about this whole evening.

Maybe it was the wine she'd had, or a desperation to unload her anxieties, or the fact that Steve Rogers was ludicrously, almost irresistibly _nice_, but for whatever reason, the truth came tumbling out of her.

"That I'm in love with my boss' son?"

He looked at her quizzically. "Thor?" he asked.

"Yes." _The other one's not really his son,_ she added in her head.

"I guess that's not surprising," Steve said, smiling a little. "I don't know why else you'd have gone with him to Asgard that first time."

"That wasn't love," Clara corrected him. "That was…uh…_really_ attracted. Which I still am. I just…"

She swallowed. Definitely the wine prompted the burning sensation in her throat and eyes. That didn't help her anger, either. She had not cried over Thor before, and she would not start now. She refused to make a scene in such a sophisticated environment, and she wasn't about to put Captain America in the role of gay BFF by making him watch her blubber about another man. Still, she couldn't suppress the tremor in her voice.

"There's nothing there. I mean, on his side. He's nice enough and we have fun hanging out at the palace and I don't think he _dislikes _me, but there's nothing more than that. I don't know why there would be."

"Does he know?" Steve asked. "How you feel?" When Clara hesitated, he added, "I'm sorry, I'm not trying to pry."

"No, I brought it up." Clara sighed. It seemed like poor Steve was going to be the BFF after all. "I was going to tell him, I had it planned, kind of. But then Loki said something and…_he _knew all about it. I don't know how, but he's known from day one. He's been a little bitch about it since the first time I ever talked to him, actually. He even knew I was trying to make Thor jealous, more than I even realized it. Anyway, he made it pretty clear that the feelings were all on my side. And I figure if a psycho murderer could tell that I was in love, maybe I didn't need to bother telling Thor at all."

"And you believed the murderer?" Steve asked. Coming from the guy who punched Hitler in the face, the words sounded scolding and more than a little incredulous.

"It sounds stupid when you say it like that, but…it _was _already obvious to me. I mean, one time we almost kissed, and he cut me off and said it wasn't appropriate, not when I'm doing what I'm doing for him and Odin. And he's been a little more distant, and I just…I think I should just try to forget it."

Her thoughts were unceremoniously yanked away from Thor by the arrival of their entrees. She declined the waiter's offer of more wine. After some obligatory praise for the dinners' presentation, Clara and Steve started on their plates in heavy silence. She thought he would drop the awkward subject for something a little more guy-friendly. A few minutes later, however, he astonished her.

"Before I went under, in the ice," he said softly, without any other prologue, "I met a woman in the Army—Peggy, a British agent. I thought she was beautiful, anyone would've, but we had to work together quite a bit, and I started to have deeper feelings for her. I didn't know for sure if _she_ felt the same, but it took me forever just to get up the nerve to plan a date. We had a mission to finish, though, and a whole war to fight. That was when the plane went down in the Arctic, and took me with it. We were supposed to go dancing." He shook his head, looking down at her plate. "Didn't quite work out that way," he finished.

Clara watched him, so absorbed that she forgot to swallow her pasta when she had finished chewing it. She had managed not to cry about Thor, but now her eyes filled with tears at Steve's story. _My god, is there anything in this man's life that _isn't _completely heartbreaking?_

She swallowed. "I don't even know what to say," she said, her voice squeaky.

He took a deep breath and leaned forward a little. His tone was almost conspiratorial. "I never took the chance I should have. I didn't tell Peggy how much I liked her—not in plain English. Since I woke up from the ice, there hasn't been a day where I haven't regretted that. If you care enough about someone, you should tell them, because you really don't know what'll happen."

Clara lowered her head and carefully dabbed at her tears with her napkin without messing up her mascara. She looked back at him and made a pathetic attempt at a smile.

"Okay," she said, her voice still thick. "Point taken."

Steve seemed to hesitate. "And I wouldn't worry about his reaction," he finally said. "I mean…" His cheeks started to redden again. "You're good company, and you've got moxie, as my mom would say. Also, you're…well, you're really pretty. So you've got…nothing to worry about there."

"Thank you," she said with an embarrassed laugh. "You're going to make me cry again."

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Yeah, you _should _apologize for that one," she said wryly, and he grinned.

They fell back into silence for another few minutes as they continued to eat their dinners. Hers was delicious, but her mind was not fully focused. She cleared her throat.

"So…would you mind not getting dessert?" she asked.

"You don't want to stay for cheesecake?"

She smiled. "I think this mission is a little more urgent, Captain."

She could have just turned the stone in her ring and left him right there at the table, but in some ways she still considered herself a lady. She almost didn't bother to linger, though, when she had inhaled the rest of her meal and was waiting for him to finish his.

Finally the check came and went, she grabbed her pocketbook, and they walked out of the restaurant. Outside the door, in a moment of camaraderie, she hooked her arm around his elbow.

"Thank you, Steve," she said. "This was really nice."

"Thanks for coming," he said.

"By the way, all those nice things you said to me? They could easily be said about you too—including the part about being 'really pretty.'" When he was speechless, she laughed, leaned forward, and gave him a peck on the cheek.

"You don't have to take me home," she added. "I have my own way back." After a quick glance around to make sure there were no passersby to see, she took a step back, winked, and turned the stone on her finger.

* * *

**A/N: Just in case there is any confusion, _my _Steve is not actually gay. That was just a turn of phrase to help define where he and Clara stand with each other. (In case any of you reading this are Steve/Clara shippers, along with the Thor/Clara and Loki/Clara shippers I've already heard from.) I just had to indulge my love for Cap in this chapter. In fact, he was the reason I went to see _Avengers_ the first time. Alas, despite my motives, I still left the cinema that day a Loki fangirl (Say what? Yes, it's true.)**

**Oh, and yeah…I left you on a cliffhanger. Whoops. Happy Thanksgiving!**


	21. Use My Head Alongside My Heart

**A/N: OK, this chapter…this is a fun one. But there's another A/N at the end that is _really important _for a lot of you. So keep that in mind!**

**For now, though, I just need to tell you guys thanks again. Partly because I actually started posting this fic on another site, and it's been ... well, less positively received, shall we say. So I want to make sure you all here know how much I appreciate you still reading this. All right, on to the show...  
**

* * *

Clara's feet hit the marble floor, causing her to totter in her heels. Regaining her balance, she took off in a direction chosen at random. She would have done better, of course, going in her bare feet, but her mind was too focused on finding Thor even for that obvious consideration. She had no idea where to find him at this time of evening—for it _was_ evening in Asgard, too—but if she had to search the entire palace, from the dungeons to the towers and then back again, she would do it.

The frantic clatter of her heels should have called more attention than it did. She passed two guards and a maid, but although they all recognized her, none of them knew where to find the prince. At the end of the corridor, she turned right. A few seconds later, above her own noise, she heard her name echoing. She stopped, once again almost toppling over, and turned to see Thor approaching quickly.

Her mouth went dry, and the words she had rehearsed in her mind melted away into nothingness. She froze in place until he was close, towering over her, his expression anxious.

"Clara," he whispered.

She saw exactly what she had hoped to see in his face—or was it because she hoped for it that she saw it? Steve's words came back to her; she knew she could not leave any room for doubt.

"I came to tell you something," she said. Fear passed across his face before he composed himself. "Maybe you guessed already, maybe it wouldn't make a difference, but I…"

_Stop now, while you still have your dignity._

_No, don't lose your nerve!_

"I'm in love with you. However you take that…I need you to know it."

He was stunned into silence, but she could not immediately tell if that was a good thing or not. She was that close to going back instantly to New York to save face. Before she could touch her ring, however, he had one hand to her shoulder and the other to the back of her head, pulling her into a kiss.

She dropped her pocketbook and wrapped her arms around him, not minding the cold, hard armor against her bare skin. All she could feel was his mouth, his breath; all she heard was the rush of blood in her ears. When she broke away, she finally noticed the metal, and shivered involuntarily.

"What about what you said…about being cautious?" she asked. She was attempting to be coquettish, but she could not keep her very real concern from seeping into her words.

He leaned down and pressed his forehead against hers. She closed her eyes, her breath stilled.

"To Hel with caution," he said before he kissed her again.

She pulled back. "But what…do you have to say? To what I told you?" She tried to keep her smile warm but her words firm.

He stared at her intently, his jaw so firmly set that she was afraid she had made him angry.

Instead, he said, "We are of the same mind, Clara." He stood up straight again and enclosed one of her hands firmly in his. "Come with me," he said.

She wondered at first if he was taking her to the throne room to receive Odin's…what? Blessing? It was unlikely that the king was still holding council at this hour. Plus, they were not taking the correct route. This corridor was unfamiliar, and that left only one other option she could think of. Finally they stopped in front of a set of massive double doors of heavy wood.

Her hands were clammy and her stomach was performing elaborate gymnastics as Thor opened the doors. They stepped inside a large sitting area. Dark, wooden walls were covered with intricate tapestries, and a richly-colored rug was spread across the marble floor. Tall candelabra glimmered in every corner. In one wall, an enormous stone fireplace opened into the adjoining room. The fire radiated not only heat, but a sweet smell something like incense. Before the hearth stood a pair of chairs. Above the fireplace were mounted the heads of several beasts, including an enormous wild boar and a vile creature that could only be described as a dragon with antlers.

Clara's mouth was too dry to ask about anything before she felt Thor's hand slide across her shoulders. She shivered, even though his skin was warm. She closed her eyes, inhaling the smell of the fire as she tried to collect herself. The hand moved from her back and traced the line of her jaw. She turned her gaze up at him, seeing the golden glow reflected in his armor and his eyes. Nervously she pressed the fingertips of one hand against her lips. There was no use in being coy at this point. It was exactly what she wanted, and somehow more than she bargained for.

_Oh, well, what's one more rash decision?_

She let her shoes and clutch fall to the floor when he embraced her again. Quicker than she could react, she was lifted into his arms and carried into the next room.

Her arms encircling his neck, she twisted her head as far as she could to look. Here, as expected, was his bedroom, similarly decorated. Along with the same fireplace, it shared the sitting room's warmth and fragrance. The marble floor was scattered with rugs made from animal pelts. Against the far wall stood an enormous canopied bed, hung with brick-colored draperies.

"It suits you," she said.

He stopped, still holding her comfortably, as though the weight was nothing. He seemed to be hunting for something in her expression. Clara, already nervous, became downright terrified. But what was there to be terrified of? How long had she agonized over her feelings? How long had she wanted _this,_ exactly as it was now unfolding?

He crossed the room and settled her on the bed before he began to remove his weighty armor. She watched him awkwardly, wondering if she should help. But she didn't know the first thing about the fastenings, and her hands were probably shaking too badly to be any use. Detaching the last of it and setting it aside, Thor grinned, apparently taking her wide-eyed observation as a compliment. In a close-fitting shirt and trousers, he was no less formidable, but he looked far more human.

So why couldn't she settle her unease?

_I don't want to take back anything I said,_ she thought. That much, she knew for sure.

The mattress sank under his weight. He was above her now, kissing her. The chignon Safia had so kindly arranged was coming undone…

Her fingers tangled in his fair hair, her mouth exchanging kiss for kiss as she inhaled his scent—musky and wild and altogether captivating. How could her body be so strained, when it wanted him so much?

Yet somehow, in a burst of unwanted awareness, memories of the past weeks flooded her mind. She thought of Heimdall—doubtless getting an eyeful right now—her first sight of Thor in the restaurant, his and Odin's offer, the agony of her decision, the hassle she'd faced since then. She thought of her interrogation by S.H.I.E.L.D., Loki's taunts, her last interview, and every other piece in the series of dominoes that led to this moment.

And where would the next piece fall?

_I can't think about that now, not when I have exactly what I want._

His lips were caressing her neck, one hand in her hair, the other on her hip. She felt her skirt moving upward against her legs.

_I don't want to look ahead, I don't care what happens._

But she did. She knew she did.

_Dammit! _her libido screamed at her frontal lobe. _Why did you have to bring all that up right now?_

With something between a gasp and a moan, she pulled her arms under his chest and shoved. She struggled to sit up, further pushing him away, until she sat back against the pillows, tucking her legs under her. She dug her nails into her scalp and ruffled her hair until it was completely undone.

"I can't," she said, her voice strangled. "I can't do this now."

"Clara?"

She almost changed her mind at his hurt expression. She reached out, but he drew back.

"I'm sorry," she said. Had she just undone absolutely everything?

"What is your meaning?" He was surly now, _and _insulted. This was not good.

She shifted her position, but he did not move away again. She grabbed his shoulder with one hand and placed the other against his cheek.

"I _want_ to. I want _you_. But I'm…" She took a deep breath and swallowed back an ill feeling. "I've been making some crazy decisions lately. I meant it when I said I love you, but I'm not ready for _this_ yet."

"I do not understand," he said crossly.

"I don't think I do, either. I do know that I love you, but that has to be enough, just for now." She lowered her hands, but not her eyes, from his face. "Please."

His wounded, offended expression became sympathetic. His brow furrowed, he brushed strands of hair back from her face. "Have you never…?"

She clenched her teeth. Why did he have to ask? Her stalling was not an act of innocence, and she was not too eager to rehash her history, such as it was.

"Yes, I have," she said, grinding out the words. She refused to reciprocate the question; she didn't want to know. Trying to relax, she said, "I just…need to be sure…this time."

In spite of the hurt, she saw the desire in his eyes, accentuated by the firelight. She tried to steady her breath as her pulse refused to settle. She watched and waited, reminding herself that she trusted him, though the fingers on her right hand almost unconsciously brushed against the ring on her left.

Finally, with a sigh heaved at least partly in frustration, he lay on his back beside her. Relief cascaded over her, almost pushing out her remorse and passion. Almost. The tension leaving her shoulders, she leaned over to kiss him.

"Thank you," she murmured, stroking his hair. Her lips brushed his again, but he jerked his head away.

"You do not make this easy," he said, pushing himself to a sitting position. The humor had gone from his face, leaving a tightness that seemed a warning.

"Right," she said, turning to get up from the bed. "I better go."

Before she could set her feet on the floor, he covered one of her hands, pinning it to the sheets. Her heart jumped to her throat. Was she about to learn the price of refusing a prince?

"Stay," he said.

Her heart nearly broke. It was not an imperious command, but a humble request.

"Of course," she said. She fluffed a pillow and flopped onto it with some deliberate comedy, hoping it might lighten the mood. She turned over on her side toward him, wondering if he would follow suit, but he stayed sitting up against the pillows and headboard. "As long as you like," she added.

He was quiet as he looked at her. She remembered how confident she had been about her appearance at the restaurant, and wondered about the effect that disheveled hair and flickering light now had on the whole arrangement. It hadn't done Thor any harm, at least.

"Why did you come tonight?" he finally asked. She wondered if there was an accusation in the question, or if it was as genuinely curious as she hoped.

"Steve Rogers gave me some advice," she said, "and I couldn't wait any longer. I mean, to tell you."

There was another pause before he spoke again. "How long did you wait?"

She couldn't help grinning. "I guess it hasn't really been that long. I liked you immediately, obviously, but…that day we rode out to the vineyards…that was when I couldn't brush it off anymore."

Thor looked regretful. "I thought you'd been overcome with sentiment. You were melancholy that day."

"Yeah," she said. "I was homesick."

"I became convinced that your interest was nothing more than flirtation. I had no intention of cultivating it into more, for fear it would hinder you in your work, helping the realms reconcile. That is my great concern, you understand."

"I understand," she said. "You didn't want us distracted—I get it. But Steve told me how he loved someone, and never told her. I couldn't let that happen to me."

"I'm glad you didn't," Thor said softly.

"You are?" Clara asked, her voice lifted several notes higher with relief and hope.

"It seems that refusing my own feelings is no less troublesome than acknowledging them. But you left so abruptly, I did not know what to make of it. Heimdall told me you were safely home and back to your work. I did not want to chase you down; I thought you must have had your reasons."

"Oh, I had my reasons, all right," she said. She clenched her eyes shut, feeling nauseated at the memory of Loki's derision, his insinuations, and when he nearly lost his temper and grasped her face. She shuddered to remember those hands on her chin, the strength that could have broken her if he wished.

Thor sighed. "I know what my brother said to you," he said. "I am more sorry than I can say."

"Wasn't as bad as blowing up a city," Clara said bitterly. "And why do you call him that? He's not your brother. He's not even Asgardian. Why should you care if he lives or dies? No one else does."

She was not looking at him, and so missed the change in his expression, a shift from tenderness to defense, affection to indignation. She heard it in his voice, though.

"I do not appreciate you speaking so. Your hatred is justified, but I will not hear his being maligned, either. My affections for you do not negate my love for him, or my hopes for his…recovery."

There was that royal tone of voice that never ceased to confuse and exasperate her.

"Okay, noted," she said, opening her eyes. "But I still don't understand why he matters so much."

His face held its stern expression until he saw that she really did want an answer.

"For all he's done—the violence and theft and deceit—it is not easy to erase the years of our upbringing. Our times spent playing and fighting and confiding in one another cannot be so quickly undone. Fighting together in battle, for our people and our realm, has tied us together in ways you cannot fathom if you have not known it yourself. I cannot simply abandon him to his fate after all that. You have a sister—would you not think as I do, were you in my place?"

Clara frowned. "But I'm not—and I never will be. My sister got a DUI. I know it was incredibly stupid, but she wouldn't deliberately hurt someone, and I don't know if I could defend her if she did."

Thor still looked sour; she had not reacted quite as he had expected. She raised her hand to take his. "Never mind," she said. "I get it now." She did, really, though she still thought Thor was ridiculous to still care about Loki. Plus, she was tired of the subject—and just tired. "We feel the same about each other, and that's what matters right now."

He lifted her hand and placed a lingering kiss against her fingers.

"Yes, we do," he said, not letting go of her. "And I am not so deluded as to believe that you and he could be friends, or that you could care for him as I do, or even that he is not dangerous. He still harbors a prejudice against your people. Unwarranted, of course," he added with a smile, trying to mollify Clara, who had thrown him a scathing look. "Until I have every assurance of his restoration, I will protect you. From whatever, from whomever, threatens your safety."

_Including S.H.I.E.L.D.? _she wondered, but did not ask aloud. Instead, she sought certainty elsewhere.

"So…what Loki said about you and Sif…?"

Thor's smile widened. "Is that what _really _troubled you?" He chuckled. "Sif and I have known each other since childhood. Our bond is that of two warriors who have prevailed together against enemies, and that is all it has ever been."

"But you two _do _make an attractive couple," Clara said, pulling her hand away. "I guess _he_"—she could not speak his name at the moment—"was telling the truth about _that_."

"Put it from your mind," Thor said gently. "There is no magic, pain, love, or threat that could keep Loki from mischief entirely, even if he repented of his past actions."

There was one other thing that tugged at her mind, but she could not put it away.

"He was right about something else. I was flirting with Fandral to try to make you jealous. I couldn't tell if it was working much, but _someone_ knew what I was doing. Even before I think I really knew."

Thor startled her by breaking out into a full laugh. Clara blinked at him and sat up, surprised. It resonated in her own chest, like the drums in a parade.

"Is it _that_ funny?" she asked.

He grinned roguishly. "I assumed you hoped to vex me after I…spurned your advances."

"You knew?"

"Of course! As uncertain as I was about your affections, I never once entertained the notion that you might prefer _Fandral _instead."

She responded with a pillow to his face, which he easily caught and tossed to the floor.

"Hey! I was using that."

Thor leaned down to pick it up. Clara held out her hand, but he tucked the pillow behind the others that he already lounged against and looked at her challengingly.

"Fine," she said. "Guess that's my cue to leave." But once again he reached out and caught her, lightly grasping her wrist to prevent her departure.

"You said as long as I like," he reminded her. "I would _not_ like you to leave yet."

"I still have the ring," she said, balling her hands into fists in case he got any ideas. "I could go back to New York this very second and get away from you anyway."

"You could not," Thor said. He tugged on her wrist, gradually pulling her back toward him. "Anyone who makes physical contact with you as you turn the stone is transported with you."

Clara raised her eyebrows, surprised and a little put off that he had neglected to share that detail with her before. But then, it made sense—she only had to hold on to Thor, not the Tesseract, the first time he brought her to Asgard. She looked down at her hands as Thor took hold of them both.

"And you would not care to go back in your bare feet, would you?" Thor added.

She had forgotten that her shoes and purse were in the next room.

"So I have no escape," she said.

"None at all," he said with mock seriousness.

She pretended to look peeved, but then moved closer to kiss him once more. He let go of her and she curled up against him, her head resting on his chest.

"So, _which _one of you is the god of mischief?" she asked. She felt his deep chuckle in response. Her question was rhetorical, and she did not mind the silence that followed. She closed her eyes; the late hour and her own fatigue were catching up to her, but she was not ready to go yet.

"We taught each other a few things over the years," Thor finally said.

"Not too much, I hope," she murmured.

There was another lengthy pause.

"Not nearly enough," he said sadly.

* * *

**A/N: Awwww, cute, right? **

**And now a note to my fellow Loki fans (I say "fellow" fans because I AM one of you, despite any and all evidence to the contrary). Whatever happens between Thor and Clara, Loki will remain an important part of the plot, and you will want to stick around for that. That's all I can say without giving it all away, but as I said before, _trust me_. (And my fellow Thor fans [pfft yes, I go both ways], you need to trust me too.) Look, just everyone, hold out to the bitter end and see what happens, OK? "_I've come too far for anything else._"  
**


	22. Drinking Scorn Like Water

**A/N: Happy New Year, belated Merry Christmas, and so on. Sorry that updates have been much more infrequent lately—alas, personal issues have interfered with my writing. (Also, I'm starting the new year with some kind of cold/flu/illness thing. Yay.) I'm also sorry that this chapter isn't spectacular. It's mostly "taking care of business," plot-wise, but I hope it will still be entertaining. I CAN promise your favorite characters in the **_**next**_** chapter. **

**And by "favorite characters," I mean, of course, Loki.**

* * *

The fireplace was dark and cold when Clara opened her eyes again. Suddenly remembering where she was, she threw herself off the bed as though from an electric shock.

"Oh, shit," she groaned, "shit, shit, _shit!_"

Thor awoke more slowly, blinking with confusion at the noise.

"What is wrong?" he asked.

"I slept here all night." She rubbed her eyes, willing herself to wake up completely. "Oh, _shit_—I've got the _Huffington Post_ today! I have to get home!"

When she darted into the next room, Thor chased after her. She scooped up her pocketbook from the floor and put on her shoes. Thor grabbed her arm before she could turn the ring.

"Clara, what has happened?" he asked, sounding nearly as frantic as she.

"I didn't mean to fall asleep. I should have been home last night." At the look on his face, she clasped his hand reassuringly. "I have an interview. Tony helped me get it, and I may have missed it already. I'm sorry, I have to go."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

"No, it's all right. I'll come back as soon as I can." Before he could say anything more—and he could have come after her if it was that important—she took a few steps back and twisted the stone.

A minute later, she was hurrying through the streets of New York, dodging early-morning vehicles and pedestrians as rush hour was dawning. Her mobile—which did not work at all in Asgard, unlike her camera—informed her that it was just short of 7:00am, an hour before her interview. Thank God it was on Skype. She didn't have money, but she had her MetroCard and could just make it home in time, barring any major delays.

She collapsed into a seat on the subway with great relief, taking a minute to close her eyes and collect herself. When she opened them, she saw someone eyeing her from across the car and smirking. She frowned at him before she realized what she must have looked like. Clara hadn't even checked a mirror before she left Asgard, but she didn't need one to tell her that her makeup was smudged, her hair was falling down over her shoulders, and her dress was wrinkled. She opened her purse and found her compact, which confirmed it all.

_Whatever, it's a random stranger—let him believe what he wants._

Unconsciously she glanced over at the man again before she shuddered, thinking of another smirk with which she was becoming all too familiar.

At last she was climbing the stairs in her apartment building, her feet silently screaming for help. She had only a few minutes to spare, and could not decide what she should do first. Wash her face, probably. The blogger wouldn't be able to see much of her dress on a webcam.

Clara heard none of Safia's usual blaring music when she came inside. But when she stepped out of her shoes and shut the door, something soft struck her back.

"Hey!"

A roll of paper towels bounced off Clara and onto the floor before she noticed her flatmate standing in the kitchen with clenched hands. Her dark eyes were red-rimmed, but the rest of her face was completely livid.

"Did you just _throw _that at me?" Clara asked.

"You _whore!_" Safia shouted at her.

Clara jerked her head and blinked rapidly. Safia _never _said that, even as a joke. "What's _your_ problem?"

For a moment, she thought Safia was going to spit in her face, or start throwing something more deadly than paper towels. Instead she just said, "How was your _date?_"

Clara staggered backward several steps. "Oh god, Safia, this isn't what it looks like."

"Well, it _looks like_ my roommate is a two-faced slut!" Safia grabbed a plastic cup and hurled it at Clara, who ducked. For a second, she was thankful that Safia still had the presence of mind not to throw anything sharp or breakable.

"I didn't sleep with Steve!" Clara said.

"I'm supposed to believe you? And you're just coming back now, still dressed like _that?_"

"Yes!" Clara opened her mouth to clarify, but then she saw the clock. "I can explain later, but I have an interview right now."

"Oh, that's right!" Safia called after her. "Clara McKenna, the _big shot_—the big shot _whore!—_has her interview! Are you going to brag about how you screwed Captain America, or are you gonna save that for your blog? Did you get some good pictures, or maybe a sex tape is more the style for an exhibitionist skank like you!"

In the doorway to her room, Clara whirled around. Red-faced, she screamed, "We just had dinner! And we didn't have _any kind _of dessert!" She could have said something about Thor, but at this point Safia was too upset to listen to the truth. Telling her that she didn'tsleep with Steve, but that she _did_—literally—sleep with Thor might not make Safia any less hostile.

Clara slammed the door and dropped herself into the chair at her desk to revive her computer. By now it was just 8:00 and there was no time even to wash her face. She checked her phone, but she hadn't missed a call or a text. Just as she was logging on to Skype, Safia burst in.

"You knew I liked him! You said you'd try to bring him back here. If _you _wanted a shot, you could have just toldme!"

"I don't want him, and I didn't sleep with him—now _get out!_" Clara yelled back. Safia did just that, but in a huff and with the explosive sound of a door closed with all her strength and anger. Clara glared at the closed door for a moment before turning back to her computer. At least no one else had seen that.

Simon Harbaugh, the _HuffPo_ blogger conducting the interview, didn't make a comment about her appearance other than a general courtesy about seeing "the face behind the story." He did it, however, in a slightly dry manner that made Clara even more nervous. Fortunately, he started with questions that were becoming standard on other blogs—specifically, how she met the Avengers and whether or not her story about Asgard was true.

"Senator Boynton has called for Thor and the other Avengers to be held accountable for the damage done to Manhattan," he said. "How would you respond to that?"

"Well, I'm no expert on insurance policies or collateral damage," Clara said. "I don't have an idea for how to pay for the wreckage or anything like that. But I think it's safe to say it would all be worse without the Avengers. Not to mention we'd have an evil dictator on our hands."

"So you do believe that the invasion was a terrorist plot to bring down the government?"

"Well, not just the U.S. government, but pretty much the planet, I think. And if you could call the aliens 'terrorists.'"

"Aside from Senator Boynton and the president, government officials have been largely silent on the issue, which has made a lot of people suspicious. Your father is Senator Fred McKenna of California, isn't that right? What's his stance?"

Clara cleared her throat. "I haven't spoken to him about this yet, and to my knowledge he hasn't made his own statement. I wouldn't be surprised if he's fairly skeptical."

"You've said that this is a worldwide issue, not one that just affects New York," Harbaugh pointed out.

"I did," Clara said, "and judging by the reactions to my blog, most people agree with me. I mean, how could you not? Yeah, Loki picked New York for the big fight, but he could have brought the aliens anywhere else. Yes, this is a worldwide concern. Aliens from another planet usually are."

"A lot of people are throwing around the phrase 'government cover-up,' and many don't even believe these terrorists _were _aliens. Couldn't there be another explanation?"

"I guess," Clara answered. "I mean, it _could _have been something else, but it's just…not. I really get why it's so unbelievable. Even though Tony Stark confirmed it, maybe that's not enough for some people. If I hadn't been to Asgard myself, I might have chalked it up to a conspiracy, too."

"But you've been saying that Asgard is not responsible for the attacks," Harbaugh reminded her.

"That's right. Thor and Odin and the rest of them want peace with our planet. Loki was a rogue figure, and…" She was about to say "and he's not even from Asgard," but that might open a door that she wasn't ready to walk through. Instead she said, "…and the aliens came from somewhere else entirely, even the Asgardians aren't really sure where."

"So how do the Asgardians view Earth, then?" Harbaugh asked. "You said they want peace…"

"With the Earth, yes," Clara said. "It seems like, for the average Asgardians, Earth generally isn't something that comes into daily life. The people closer to the royal family, like the warriors and all, kind of have more of an eye on things here. I don't know what Asgard's, um, diplomatic relations are with other countries—I mean, planets—or realms, I guess. Anyway, regardless, Thor has said that the Earth is under his protection."

"Which begs the question that I think has people most disturbed now—protection from what? And by what authority does he claim to protect the Earth?"

"Um, Odin's authority, I guess? I don't really know, but if you'd seen these people, and the kind of magic and power they have, you wouldn't really want to question _why_ they want to help us. If you want to be cliché about it, 'stuff of legend' is a good phrase to describe it. As for what they want to protect us from, I'd say the Chitauri invasion is a pretty good example."

"But the aliens still got in and did a lot of damage," Harbaugh pointed out. "And given the state of things even before the attack, I suppose Thor's so-called protection doesn't include protecting us from ourselves."

Clara stifled a sigh as she paused to consider how to respond to this. But to her surprise, he did not seem to expect a response. Instead, he altered the interview's route.

"Putting alien invasions aside for a bit," he said with a hint of irony in his tone, "tell me about Asgard itself. What's the culture like?"

Clara told him about the banquet—minus her getting drunk—as well as horseback riding through the vineyards, Ketill's village, Asgardian hospitality, and the dance. She avoided further mention of Loki and tried to suppress her emotions about Thor, even when she felt her breath catch and her stomach jump at the thought of him.

"How do you travel there?" Harbaugh asked. "How long does it take, and would you be able to bring some others with you? It would improve the credibility of your story, if you don't mind me saying."

"I know," Clara said. "But it's a magical method that I can't disclose quite yet. I _could _bring someone with me, I suppose, but I'd need to get Odin's permission first. Leaving out any security issues, it just seems like good manners."

"It sounds like they trust you there." Now his tone was getting more suspicious.

"They do," she said, a little worried. "Which is why I'm afraid I can't tell you much more than that."

"Well, Ms. McKenna," Harbaugh said, surprising her again, "this has been fascinating. Unfortunately, I'm going to have to wrap it up. But before we do, I know we've been talking politics and the culture of Asgard, but could you comment on your relationship with Captain America?"

Clara could not summon the mental strength to hide her shock in time.

"Excuse me?" she asked. "My _relationship _with him?"

"The photos that the _Post _published on their site? Looks like you two had quite a romantic time."

"Oh my god, I didn't know about them—and no, we weren't. I mean, we were on a date, but it wasn't romantic. It wasn't even really a _date_. It was just…dinner."

"Hmm, guess someone there made a mistake,"he said, now sounding even more incredulous. "My apologies, then."

"Yeah, well, thanks, it's been great, but I gotta go now," Clara said.

She logged off abruptly and immediately went to the _New York Post _website. There it was, in the Page Six section—one surreptitious photo of her and Steve's table at the restaurant, and a second of them walking out, smiling, elbows hooked together, her head leaning on his arm. It all did look very intimate, not the casual, awkward incident she knew it to be. The headline—"Captain America: Old-Fashioned Love Story?"—was the cherry on top.

_Like a friggin' Taylor Swift song, _she thought. _Can they not see the awkwardness?_ Not that either of them looked bad in the shot, but when Clara, who was _in _the photo, remembered the circumstances…

_Did he set this up? _Clara wondered, anger welling up inside her.

It cooled just as quickly. No, he couldn't have—why would he? The dinner was already supposed to be an apology for getting her involved with shady people. If he wanted to make it look like he was in a relationship, why would he encourage her to tell Thor how she felt?

_Did _Tony _set this up? _That was more likely…and yet somehow she doubted it. It was probably just some moron who thought he had a scoop. She groaned and banged her head against the edge of her desk.

Once again she remembered her clothes, and got up to change into jeans. Peeking out of her room, she listened for Safia before tiptoeing into the bathroom, where she got an even better look at herself. She groaned before taking a comb to her tangled hair and washing her face.

_All the infamy of a walk of shame, _she thought, _and none of the benefits_.

In the middle of brushing her teeth, she froze, staring at herself in the mirror, her brow furrowed and her eyebrows scrunched together.

_Why _did _I make him stop? _In the light of day, she could hardly remember. Something about how she had been making somewhat hasty decisions lately, how she wanted to make sure it was right. Or…something like that.

After Clara finished brushing her teeth, she stared in the mirror a little more, as though trying to intimidate herself.

_Well, I've been doing a lot of dumb shit lately. I might as well make _some _of it fun._

She grabbed her toiletry bag and put in her toothbrush and toothpaste. She dropped in a few more items from the medicine cabinet, then crept back to her room to pack up some other things.

There, she found her phone vibrating with an incoming call: Tony Stark.

"Hello," she said into the phone, grimacing and preparing for the worst.

"Nice work, McKenna," Tony said. "I guess I don't have to ask how it went last night. Not sure I want the gory details."

"Tony!" Clara groaned. "Did _you _sic the _New York Post_ on us?"

"Oh, please. Like I thought anything would _actually_ happen between you and St. Stephen. Whoever took those pictures just got lucky—and I guess he wasn't the only one."

"I did not have sex with Steve!" she shrieked into the phone.

"_Like hell you didn't!_" Safia yelled from elsewhere in the apartment.

"Who's that?" Tony asked. "Oh, _please _tell me you had a—"

"My roommate," Clara said. She raised her voice enough to be sure that both Tony and Safia heard her. "She has a thing for Steve, and she won't believe me that _nothing happened last night!_"

"Nothing?" Tony asked with a strangely knowing tone. "Are you sure?"

Her heart leaped into her throat before she reminded herself that he could not have possibly known about her going to Asgard.

"I didn't sleep with Steve, I never have, I never will."

"Whatever you say, McKenna," Tony said. "Anyway, that wasn't the only reason I was calling."

"Thank God for that," Clara said. "As much as my day isn't complete without torment from you, Tony Stark, I _was _hoping there was more to it."

"I have an idea for your blog—a proposal, if you will—and sorry to disappoint you, but you'll actually have to wait to hear about it."

"Why is that?"

"You'll figure it out. I'm busy for the next few days, so you'll have to come by Stark Tower on Thursday if you're interested. I just wanted to let you know now."

"This better be good."

"Would I lie to you?"

"Probably."

"Not this time," Tony said. Once again, she was sure she could hear his grin over the phone. "Thursday. Make it 2:00."

"We'll see," she said before hanging up.

After tucking her phone into her pocket, she sighed and rubbed her forehead. Once again, there was way too much happening all at once. Now she felt she _had _to get away to Asgard, even if nothing in particular happened there. She started to pack up everything else she might want or need for the next few days. She had no other interviews this week—though she had promised guest posts on a travel blog, a photography blog, and the sci-fi blog—and considering the way things were with Safia, a few days in Asgard might be best for everyone.

But before she left…she had to try to make amends one more time.

She knocked at Safia's closed door.

"Go away!"

Clara ignored her and let herself in. Safia was standing at her dresser, half the drawers open and the contents piled on her bed. For some reason, Safia always liked to organize her clothes when she was in a bad mood, even though it hardly seemed to help.

"I told you to go away," she snarled.

Clara tried to keep her voice calm. "I saw the pictures from the _Post_. I'm sorry I hurt your feelings, Safia, but I really didn't sleep with Steve. I wouldn't do that, knowing you were interested in him."

Safia turned her back on Clara, glaring into an open drawer as if her jeans had also offended her.

"You don't have to believe me, but honestly, the truth doesn't sound that much better. I didn't come home last night because I went to Asgard right after we left the restaurant. I couldn't text you there, and I should have done it before I went, but I…I just didn't think to."

Safia whirled around and gave her a look of utter revulsion. Clara held up a hand.

"Look, dinner was…nice. Steve is _nice_. I almost _wish_ I liked him that way, because it seemed like a waste of a romantic dinner and a good-looking guy." She tried to smile, but Safia was having none of it. Clara continued. "I told him how I felt about Thor, and he told me this story…it would've broken your heart. But I had to tell Thor how I felt while I had a chance. So we left, I thanked Steve, kissed him _on the cheek_, and went to Asgard. I told Thor how I felt, and…well, we didn't have sex either, but I stayed over, kind of by accident. That's what happened. I woke up, freaked out, and came straight home."

Safia sighed and sank down on her bed, looking away from Clara.

"Just…don't hate me for this," Clara said. "Or at least hate me for something I actually did."

Still not looking at her, Safia took a shaky breath. "Go away," she said softly, her voice choked.

Clara went back to her packing, a little relieved. At least Safia did not kick her out or interrupt her before she could explain. Before she left, Clara decided to be a good roommate and clean the bathroom. She wrote Safia a note telling her where she had gone, gathered up her bags, and twisted the blue stone.


	23. A Stoic Mind and a Bleeding Heart

**A/N: Oh my GOODNESS I am so glad to be posting this chapter. It's been languishing in my hard drive because I've been very uninspired and didn't want to post it without chapter 24 prepared. But then I had a burst of inspiration this weekend. I'm excited about this chapter, and even more so about the next. The plot thickens—the game is afoot! Also, there's a scene in this chapter that was inspired by a review that "Potkanka" left a couple months ago. It put an idea into my mind, and although it may not have turned out the way you imagined, I'm still giving you credit for getting me to think of it!**

* * *

Clara found Herdis in her apartments when she arrived.

"Good afternoon, my lady! I was keeping the rooms ready for your return, but I did not know we were expecting you today."

"Not specifically today," Clara said. "Some things are going on on Earth, and, um, I needed to talk to Thor."

"Of course, my lady," Herdis said. "Though I am afraid you are not likely to see the crown prince today. He and the king are much occupied with visitors from Svartalfheim."

It was a name new to Clara. "Where's…Svor-til-fim?" she asked.

Herdis shifted her eyes before lowering her voice to say, "It is the realm of the Svartálfar, the Dark Elves. They are an untrustworthy people, but very clever. I have heard that they have means to travel between realms, even without the Bifrost."

"I don't remember hearing about them," Clara said.

"I cannot recall the last time any were in Asgard, and I could not tell you what has brought them now. The Dark Elves do not like outsiders."

"Oh. Well, I'm gonna go have a look."

"If you will pardon me, my lady, I would not do so without specific invitation from Odin or Thor."

"I'll just take a peek. They won't even see me."

Herdis looked unconvinced. "Then allow me to accompany you there."

The massive doors to the throne room were open. The enormous chamber was about half-full with Asgardian guards, courtiers, servants, and warriors there to observe the visitors. Among the numerous spectators, Clara's presence went unnoticed.

Odin was seated on his throne, flanked by Frigga and Thor. Sif and the Warriors Three stood a few steps down from the throne, against the wall, watching the delegation from Svartalfheim. Several Asgardian courtiers and sorcerers stood opposite the warriors. Clara was too far away to read their faces clearly, but their postures were tense and formal. Whatever the reason for the unexpected visit, it seemed serious. Clara swept her gaze across the rest of the room; much to her relief, Loki was nowhere in sight. Looking toward the throne, Clara realized that a figure, kneeling halfway up the steps to Odin, must have been one of the Dark Elves.

When the figure stood, she saw a being of similar height to the Asgardians—perhaps more slight. This particular Elf was male, judging by his overall form as well as his armor and clothing. His skin was dark as coal, with a bluish sheen. His long, black hair was loosely tied back, and his ears came to a slight point. He descended the rest of the steps until he stood with his compatriots.

"Convey to your queen our thanks," Odin said, indicating a coffer that the Elf had placed on the stairs.

The visitor bowed again. "She will be pleased that her gift was well received."

"I am somewhat surprised that she did not come to Asgard to pay tribute in her own person."

"Her Esteemed Majesty did not wish to presume a warm reception, should she enter the realm without the Allfather's welcome."

"Ah," Odin said. "I take it, then, that this delegation _is_ a prelude to her visit."

"With your permission, Great Allfather," the Dark Elf said.

"It is already granted," Odin said. "We need not send you away immediately, of course."

The contingent of Svartálfar nodded and again bowed their thanks. Several palace servants were dispatched to attend to them, according to Asgard's immutable rules of hospitality. They were escorted from the hall as Odin remained on his throne, Thor and Frigga unmoving beside him. The rest of the audience murmured among themselves. The atmosphere seemed tense, but with her lack of knowledge and experience in the matters of Asgard, Clara could hardly guess why.

"Leave us!" Odin called out, making Clara jump. "The prince and I will have a private meeting."

The rest of the Asgardians turned and began to file out of the throne-room doors. Clara moved to follow, but then looked back. Odin had turned to speak quietly to Frigga. Perhaps Clara could catch Thor before he and his father began to talk. She twisted around and, working against the flow of foot traffic, approached the steps to the throne. By the time she reached it, however, the hall was nearly empty and Odin was beginning to confer with his son.

She was just about to open her mouth to call up to Thor when Frigga, coming down the steps, intercepted her.

"Good afternoon, Lady Clara," she said, smiling. "I was not aware you had returned to us."

"Hi," Clara said. "I just wanted to talk to Thor for—"

"My son will be long engaged with the king today," Frigga said. "Unless it is a matter of great urgency, perhaps you might set it aside until later?"

Her voice was soft, but there was a resolution to it that Clara did not miss. Clara cast her eyes upward, but Thor and Odin were completely absorbed in their conversation, despite her attempts to will Thor to look her way. Had he not seen her? Was he pretending not to notice her? When she looked back at Frigga, the queen seemed to guess the nature of her thoughts.

"You would not find it desirable to speak to him when he is so distracted," the queen said, smiling. "Come along, my dear. I would like to visit with you for a while, anyway."

Frigga had never been very intimidating to Clara. However, the sight of her standing regally beside her husband's throne, and now wearing a knowing smile, made Clara almost terrified. Did she have some other intention beyond friendliness? Clara thought about turning her ring to escape, but she would rather deal with the queen than return to Earth to deal with Safia, Tony, and who knows what else.

Before she responded, Clara's eyes slid over to the throne, where Thor and Odin still spoke. At last, Thor's gaze shifted slightly, and met hers. He did not make any gesture, but she saw his expression alter—his eyes widened slightly, the hard line of his mouth softened. In that half-second, Clara felt a burst of courage, desire for him, and relief that she had not imagined anything last night.

Even if Frigga had not witnessed the exchange, she could not have missed the renewed sparkle in Clara's eyes when the young mortal turned back to answer her.

"Absolutely," Clara said.

She followed Frigga out of the chamber and down the corridor. Two ladies-in-waiting silently walked behind them.

"I am glad to see you, Lady Clara," Frigga said. "I was afraid we had frightened you away. Thor said you departed suddenly."

Clara was alarmed that Thor had told his mother of what had transpired the night before, until she realized that the queen must have been talking about after the dance. "I'm sorry for being rude," Clara said. "I had…business back home."

"I trust that your affairs were concluded satisfactorily?"

_Not in the least,_ Clara thought. Out loud, she said, "You might say that."

Frigga did not respond as they entered a smaller, cozier room filled with cushioned chairs and low tables.

"Would you have the servants bring refreshment in here, and let us have privacy?" she said to the two ladies. They bowed and left the room as Frigga sat on a divan and gestured for Clara to sit. "Now then, I hope you will stay longer this time. Thor was very concerned when you left."

"I wanted to," Clara said. "But I didn't know you'd have other visitors."

"While my husband and son are seeing to the delegation, consider yourself _my_ guest. Do not forget, Lady Clara, that you are also a respected member of the king's court. We would not wish you away too soon." Frigga smiled, and when Clara smiled back, she added, her light tone taking on more weight, "And I would urge you not to give too much credence to those who may speak otherwise."

Clara's eyes widened as the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck began to rise.

"Loki," she said, before she thought better of it. As soon as the name had escaped her lips, she sucked in her breath and closed her mouth as though she had just uttered a vile curse.

"Yes," Frigga said. She pressed her lips together before continuing. "I have not lost my love for Loki—he is my son, and so shall he always be. But I know what he has done. I would not ask you to forgive him. I only ask that you not take his words to heart. Do not let his disdain keep you from your duties." She sighed and sat back a little more. "Though I do not know what duties you may have at present. Here, at least. The visitors from Svartalfheim distracted the king from his concerns about Midgard."

"Why _are_ they here?" Clara asked. "Everyone seems kind of nervous about it."

"They say they have come to pay tribute to Odin and honor Thor as the future king and a victorious warrior. There is more to it if the visit is a prelude to Queen Alflyse's arrival. There has long been peace between our two realms, and I cannot think what would prompt her to appeal to Odin now."

"Are they…dangerous?"

"Not at all," Frigga said. "You mustn't be frightened of them. Many Asgardians are, but it is only old prejudice. Some of Asgard's greatest tools were forged by the Svartálfar. They cannot make full use of the weapons they create—their realm is full of strife and discord. They can hardly agree on anything amongst themselves, although Queen Alflyse's rule has been one of their most peaceful."

"I don't know if that makes me less nervous," Clara said.

Frigga chuckled, the sound like a musical scale. "I am sorry to have caused you concern, Lady Clara. You have nothing to fear from the Dark Elves, least of all when you are within Odin's palace."

Clara smiled at Frigga, hoping it looked sincere. "I trust you, Your Highness," she said.

Frigga inclined her head in silent acknowledgement of Clara's remark. The room fell silent while Clara looked around the room and Frigga seemed to be thinking of something else. Her brow furrowed, until at last she seemed ready to talk again.

"May I take the liberty to speak with you frankly? I do not wish to embarrass you, but there is something I wanted to address."

"I guess so," Clara said.

After some hesitation, again appearing to consider how to phrase her words, Frigga said, "I speak the truth when I say that you are well regarded in the palace, Lady Clara. The Allfather is counting on you to teach your people not to fear us. Our world is new to you, and as you still have much to learn, and much to convey to the Midgardians, we shall help you willingly. We do hope, however, that you will not be so distracted by novelties or emotions that you stray from your original task."

"What kind of distractions do you mean?" Clara asked, already knowing full well.

"Contradict me if you must, but I know what I see—and I see a young woman infatuated. No one could fault your interest in Thor. But he is Asgard's crown prince, and if you are as clever as you need to be, you will understand the implications."

_And here it is, _Clara thought. _We like you, you're okay, but stay the hell away from our son._

"Perhaps it is not my place to say, but I feel I ought to let you know that your interest is not unrequited, if you did not know. But you must be more cautious than he; you are at a greater disadvantage."

"What are you talking about?" Clara asked, starting to feel offended.

"Surely you realize how unequal the…balance of power is between you. In physical strength, that is obvious, but I mean also the differences of your worlds. You make no claim to royal heritage—you made that clear on your first visits. You do not seem to think yourself extraordinary by any standard."

"I…I'm sorry, Your Highness," Clara said, torn between confusion and indignation. "I can't tell if I'm being threatened or insulted—or both."

"Neither, my dear," Frigga said, looking alarmed. "I am begging for your caution, that you guard your heart and mind and everything about your person. Thor has—or should have—the duties of the realm ever in mind. As the future king of Asgard and the protector of the realms, his personal interests always must be put aside for the sake of others. He is not a common person—his life is not wholly his own. Of course it is an ongoing lesson for him—he has his pride and his selfish wishes, as we all do. It is a lesson he learned painfully, and unless you realize it too, you will not go unscathed. This is no threat I make, only a statement of fact. It is no intentional insult. I have already said that you are respected here, and that Thor shares your affections. But as a mortal woman, even one in love, you cannot be blind to your circumstances."

Clara looked down at her fidgeting hands. "Guess this is a little more than just dating the boss' son," she muttered.

"If I must speak more plainly and specifically," Frigga continued, "it is not only a question of his divided time and interests. As Thor is to be king, it is expected that he will choose a queen. With a position in Odin's court and our frequent guest, you must be prepared for such an eventuality."

Clara could not help scowling a little at the queen after that. "Don't worry, I get it," she said. "I'm not good enough for him, and I should step aside and spare myself the pain."

"If Thor's love for you is true, that is enough to make you worthy," Frigga said, surprising her. "I cannot tell yet if it is—a prince is not immune to caprice, after all. I would not object if it were so. But accept nothing less, lest your heart be broken. At the same time, keep more than your own desires in mind, lest you bring ruin to others."

The words struck Clara as her mind immediately brought up an image of poor Safia, of Steve's backfiring efforts to protect her, of her attack of conscience the night before and a decision to come back that she was now questioning.

"I do not know of your ways on Midgard," Frigga added, "but here in Asgard, when—"

Frigga was interrupted when two servants brought in trays of food and drink. Varin followed behind the servants, looking worried. He watched as they set down trays on the tables and poured out the contents of silver pitchers into jeweled goblets. When the others were dismissed, he lingered.

"Yes, Varin?" Frigga prompted. He shuffled forward.

"I beg your pardon, Your Highness, but there is a question of…Prince Loki. The Crown Prince had meant to oversee his recess from imprisonment today, but with the visitors…"

Clara picked up a goblet from a tray, hoping it contained something strong.

"Oh, my," Frigga said, her brow furrowing. "I suppose it must be postponed, but…" She looked genuinely anguished. "Well, tell Loki I shall…come to the…the dungeon to see him later."

Clara swallowed her drink—weakened, spiced mead—and spoke up before Varin left the room.

"You can see him now, if you want."

"That is kind of you, Lady Clara," Frigga said, "but you are a guest, and…he must serve punishment."

"I don't want you to change your plans on my account."

"The Svartálfar have already changed our plans, it seems," Frigga said. "Thor insists on being present when Loki is out of his cell. It is best if Loki is made to wait for him." She did not sound very resolved.

"We might have additional guards brought in here, Your Highness," Varin suggested.

Frigga glanced at Clara. It was almost unsettling how conflicted she was. Clearly she wanted to alleviate the hardship of imprisonment for him, but did not want to go against the precedence Thor had set. Perhaps Clara's attempts to be encouraging had only added to Frigga's troubled mind.

"All right," the queen finally said. "Keep…keep his chains, and see that extra guards stay here with him." When Varin bowed and left the room, she turned anxiously to Clara. "You really are not afraid? If his presence disturbs you…"

"I can deal," Clara said. "You should see him, if you want."

Frigga sighed, relieved. "From what I have heard through Thor, I would not expect you to remain voluntarily in the same room as Loki."

"I can't imagine he'll get up to much with you here."

After all, Frigga herself had reminded Clara of her status. Loki's taunts were as ineffectual as their source, and with him in fetters and soldiers standing watch, he could hardly act out against the king's ambassador. Frigga must have realized this; she smiled with gratitude and helped herself to a cake from the tray. She made no efforts to resume their interrupted conversation, to Clara's great relief.

In the silence that followed, Clara could focus only on one thing: _I have a place in the king's court—and in Thor's heart. Loki can't touch me now_.

The thought sustained her, to the point that she hardly felt anything when four armed guards escorted the fallen prince into the room. Some enigmatic expression passed across his eyes when he saw Frigga, but his face went blank at the sight of the Midgardian woman sitting nearby.

"Be seated, Loki," Frigga said. When Loki took a chair, two guards stood behind him, and the other two flanked the doorway. Despite the luxurious upholstery, Loki looked discomforted.

"Your brother is tending to business of the realms," the queen continued, "and Lady Clara was kind enough to let me entertain my son and our guest simultaneously."

"Was she," Loki muttered, not looking at either woman.

"Would you like something to eat? I think you have grown even thinner in the last few days. I can have Varin speak to the kitchens, if you wish, and have them bring something else down to you later."

"That will not be necessary," Loki said.

"As you say," Frigga said. "But now that you are here, please eat and drink with us." But still Loki hesitated.

"Like I said, I can still leave," Clara told Frigga. "I don't think he'll break bread with a mere _mortal_."

She turned from Frigga and met Loki's eyes, thinking to subtly challenge him. She knew it was dangerous. Yet she was surprised when he looked at her. She had expected to see hatred, disgust, or menace, but she saw none of these, or anything else besides. He seemed to be keeping himself from disclosing any thought at all.

Suddenly, without looking away from her, he leaned forward. Clara flinched and pressed herself against the back of the chair. Frigga gasped lightly, and the two guards reached for their swords. One corner of Loki's mouth curved up as he picked up a piece of fruit and settled back into his seat with the clinking of his chains. Clara scowled as she watched him chew with a smug expression.

"Delicious," he said. "Thank you for the invitation, Mother," he said, though Frigga did not look entirely pleased with his actions. Loki seemed to notice, and—again, to Clara's surprise—he relaxed and adopted a more docile tone.

"What business has put Thor so hard to work?" he asked the queen.

"He and the king received visitors from beyond Asgard, and they are discussing the significance."

Clara listened, quietly sipping mead, her gaze darting back and forth between Frigga and Loki. Frigga was being deliberately vague. She might still love her "son," but she certainly didn't trust him anymore.

"Beyond Asgard," Loki repeated slowly. He glanced at Clara, another inscrutable look crossing his features. "Did you bring friends with you?"

"Why?" Clara asked. "Afraid you'd get your ass kicked again?"

His eyes narrowed slightly. She could not tell if he was studying her or trying to look threatening. Her body tensed as she waited for him to speak—or attack. No one moved or made a sound. Loki began to look like the most comfortable person in the room. The tension in Clara's muscles and in her head grew to nearly unbearable proportions, and still Loki said nothing. Finally, Frigga shifted in her seat and delicately cleared her throat.

"The Lady Clara's visit today is unrelated to your brother's current obligations," she said.

"I see," Loki said, turning his attention to Frigga again. "And how is it that Asgard's queen can entertain her? Are you also unrelated to those obligations?"

"I am sure the king will hold some kind of feast in the visitors' honor, and there my presence will be required," Frigga said. "For now, they are at rest. But tell me, Loki—how do you fare? Is there anything you need that I might provide while you are with us?"

"What did you have in mind?" he asked, his tone flat.

"I don't know," Frigga admitted, shaking her head a little. "Is there food you hunger for, that you do not see here? Have you pains in your body? I could summon a healer to you. Is there a particular person to whom you wish to speak? You have but to ask, and I will see what I can do."

"I think matters have gone beyond food and headaches," Loki said.

"Perhaps so," Frigga said, with more than a little sadness.

"I would not be opposed…" he started to say. His eyes went to Clara for a moment, and his expression hardened before he turned back to the queen.

"Opposed to what, Loki?" Frigga prompted him.

He shook his head. "It is no matter. Though I think it best for everyone if I returned to…my quarters." He stood up, prompting the guards behind him and at the door to reach for their arms again.

"Are you sure?" Frigga asked, standing as well. Clara hesitated, thinking herself forgotten. Still, it seemed rude to keep sitting when the queen was on her feet, so she stood too.

Loki looked at Frigga, the muscles in his jaw and neck tensing and relaxing before he spoke again. "Your visits there in the future would not be objectionable, I think."

Clara could see tears welling up in Frigga's eyes when she said, "Thank you, my son."

Frigga continued to watch the doorway, even after Loki had been led away by the guards and vanished from view. Clara stayed quiet. Finally Frigga turned back to her, the moisture in her eyes making them shine more fiercely.

"Did you _plan_ to taunt him?" Frigga asked. Her voice was soft, but her words still pierced. "Is that why you encouraged his presence here? I said to disregard his harsh words, not to bait him."

"I'm sorry," Clara mumbled. "I didn't mean anything. I got defensive right away."

Frigga gave her a sad look that made Clara feel even more guilty. "You are pardoned," Frigga said. "If you will be more considerate in the future."

They tried to go back to the food and drinks, but the conversation was strained and awkward now. Fortunately, Varin returned and provided some relief.

"The king and Prince Thor request your presence, Your Highness," he said to the queen.

"I am entertaining Lady Clara at the moment," Frigga said.

"It's all right," Clara said. She stood up. "If you don't mind, I'll just go lie down in my room for a bit."

Frigga eyed her for a moment, then stood as well. "Thank you, Lady Clara," she said, leaving the room with Varin before Clara had a chance to say anything else.

She sighed, knowing the queen was still annoyed with her. Had her provocation given the queen second thoughts about Clara's "worthiness" of Thor's affections?

_It shouldn't matter, _she told herself.

Despite the queen's irritation, Clara actually had no intention of taking a nap. When she heard no more footsteps, she slipped out of the room and down the hall, hoping she remembered the way.

She found the proper staircase and descended to the stone hallway. Clara had forgotten the guards, but fortunately, one of them recognized her. She straightened her shoulders and cleared her throat.

"I wish to speak to the prisoner," she said, softly but firmly. "It's a personal matter."

"Of course, m'lady," the guard said before stepping aside.

Clara tried to ignore the air growing colder—and her nervousness increasing—as she marched closer to the cell. Instead of sitting morosely, Loki was pacing, the shackles on his arms jangling with each step. When Clara stepped into view, he stopped and looked at her curiously.

"You can have no purpose here," he said flatly.

"I _just_ heard you say you wouldn't object to visitors," Clara said, tucking her hands into her pockets.

He looked away. "I was not speaking of you."

"Let's talk anyway. To start: what are you playing at?"

"I?" Loki asked. He turned back to face her, eyebrows raised. "Why should I be playing at anything?"

"All I know is that you've done nothing but mock me since I started coming here. You even assaulted me at one point. Then today—nothing. Don't tell me it's because your _mommy_ was in the room?"

"Given your complaints, I should think you would be relieved."

"Given all the other crap you've pulled, you should expect me not to trust _anything_ you do."

Loki heaved a small sigh. "Has it ever occurred to you, _Lady Clara_, that your presence might ever be immaterial? That one's actions or words may, _for once_, have nothing to do with you?"

His point made too much sense for Clara to be offended. In fact, she was a little embarrassed that it had not occurred to her first. But this was overshadowed by something else, one thing that gave her a shiver within her gut. However contemptuously, he had addressed her by name for the first time.

"That's a little hard to believe," she said, "considering how much you seem to despise me."

Loki rolled his eyes. "Believe what you must, little human, it means nothing to me."

"So you've said. But if I'm so insignificant, why have you repeatedly told me to leave Asgard? If I don't matter, why didn't you just ignore me? You've obviously hated me from the start. I appreciate your stopping _now_, but everything else is the same. What's going on—change of heart?"

Loki scoffed and sat down at the bench against the farthest wall of his cell.

"I think you _do _have something in common with Thor. Both believe yourselves holier than Yggdrasil, when in fact you have nothing to commend yourselves but a privileged birth. The Midgardians have a phrase for it…'Born with a silver spoon in his mouth,' is it not?"

"I don't think it's self-important just to want to be treated with some respect."

Loki tilted his head slightly. "The respect you accorded the son of the queen, in her very presence?"

Clara felt her cheeks color. "Fair point," she said. "You've got me kind of on the defensive all the time. And I don't think it quite measures up to your…past actions."

"Then I might ask a similar question," Loki said. "If _I _am not to be trusted, if _I _am such a horrid being, why concern yourself with my thoughts toward you?"

Loki could not have meant to, but he reminded Clara of what she had told herself earlier. Rather than putting her off, his question made her raise her eyebrows thoughtfully and smile.

"I don't know," she said, her grin tipping to the side. "You pointed out that I'm an insignificant little mortal. And yet, this mere human is Odin's chosen ambassador to Earth. And in spite of your hints to the contrary, your brother, the future king, is in love with me."

Loki's expression hardly changed as she spoke, but his eyes burned. She took a step closer, so that she could have reached out and touched the clear barrier between the cell and the corridor, if she chose. She was getting carried away, but she could not stop herself, almost as if something unknown propelled her.

"Things being the way they are, I shouldn't pay you any mind at all, should I?" she said.

Against her better judgment, she met his gaze—that green gaze that shot daggers into her very soul. Never looking away, Loki raised a hand and pressed his palm against the window.

"May you always have such good fortune, my lady," he murmured.


	24. Such Are the Darks Here to Show You

**A/N: OK, you guys. I know it has been a long, long while since the previous chapter was posted. To be honest, I have been through a lot so far this year and my motivation to write has suffered terribly. I've been sitting on this chapter for ages and haven't posted it because, as I've said, I like to write several chapters ahead. In the last couple of months, though, it just hasn't been in me. So I'm just posting the last full chapter I have and hope that it will somehow propel me to keep going.**

**Honestly, I really wanted to have this fic completed before **_**Thor 2 **_**comes out (I don't know why—the fact that Jane isn't in this one already makes it non-canon/divergent from the movie). I don't know if that will happen—it definitely **_**can't **_**at my current pace.**

**But anyway, moving on…In this chapter, I start **_**really **_**taking advantage of the artistic license inherent in fanfic. There's a little bit of original Norse myth, a little bit of Marvel comic/movie universe, a little bit of inspiration from others, and lots of my own mixing and interpretation. As always, I hope you enjoy.**

* * *

Clara took a step back from the window. "What are you doing?" she whispered.

"I am merely standing here." It was Loki's turn to grin slightly, though he dropped it in a moment to _tsk tsk _at her. "Always the suspicion and blame."

"Something is going on," Clara said. "I have no reason _not _to be suspicious of you."

"I cannot see why," Loki said. "I am under the guard of lock and key and ancient magic. I have not—I _cannot_—make an attempt at escape. My liberty is at the disposal of others. You have said yourself that I spoke no provocation to you earlier." His faint smile slowly morphed into a sneer. "And yet the mortal who once called for civility appears before me, now adamant that I am…up to something. There certainly is reason to be suspicious, but that reason comes not from _me_."

Clara paused, struggling for words. "You're trying to get inside my head," she finally said.

Loki scoffed. "That is not a location I have any desire to visit."

"Fine," Clara said, taking another step backward as she raised a hand in mock surrender. "I've tried to ignore you, I've tried to be nice, I've tried to figure you out—all for Thor's sake. He may still care about you, but that doesn't mean I have to. I'm done—enjoy your prison."

She turned and briskly walked away, thanking the guards as she passed them. Climbing the stairs, she decided to be honest at last and go to her rooms. Hopefully someone would call her to the dinner that no doubt would be held for the visitors from Svartalfheim.

The chaos of the past twenty-four hours had worn on her mind. Clara stretched out on the sofa in her sitting room, intending to think over everything that had happened. Instead, she fell asleep.

When she opened her eyes again, it was darkest night. How long she had been asleep, she had no idea, but she had lain undisturbed. Neither Thor nor the queen had come to knock, and no servant had brought her a tray in lieu of dinner. It seemed that all of Asgard had forgotten her.

Groaning in pain, Clara sat up and rubbed her stiff neck. She considered sneaking out of her room and trying to find Thor's chambers. But it was obviously late, he might be asleep, and after what was apparently a very busy day, he may need his rest. It seemed Clara had nothing to do at this hour but actually go to bed. Disgruntled, she changed into her pajamas and went into the next room. For the first time since she had come to Asgard, the empty bed looked cold and ominous. She climbed in between the covers and curled on her side, glowering as though the sheets themselves had offended her.

If she expected any change when she awoke again in the early morning, she was disappointed. Once again, nothing had been left or altered for her. After the gracious treatment she had received here before—aside from Loki's behavior—this abandonment was harsh and a little insulting. It certainly did not put Clara in a favorable mood. Her stomach cramped with hunger, but she was loath to make her needs known to hosts who seemed unwilling to do their duty.

She tried to distract herself by taking her time to dress and bathe. Soon, however, she had nothing left to do. As she was trying to decide whether or not to leave the entire realm, there was a mighty knock on the door. Clara later despised herself for the way she responded: her annoyance dissolved instantly when she leaped up from her seat and threw open the door. As she had hoped, the crown prince of Asgard stood before her, dressed even more impressively than usual and wearing a contrite expression.

"Clara, you must forgive me—all of us," he said. "Amid the disruption, we forgot you were in the palace. I am truly sorry. This rudeness is unpardonable, but I came here as soon as I realized…"

"It…it's okay," she said.

"Are you all right? Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah," Clara said. "I could use something to eat, though."

"Of course," he said. "Do not be angry with Herdis. She has been appointed to serve you, but we were compelled to enlist her help with our visitors."

"I wasn't going to be mad at her," Clara said, a little annoyed that he felt the need even to suggest it.

He placed his hand gently against her hair. The sweetness in his eyes was almost painful. "I _am_ glad you are here," he said. "Despite things…being the way they are…all in disarray."

"What _is _going on?" she asked.

Removing his hand, he sighed and straightened his shoulders. His expression transitioned from tender beau to dutiful prince. Clara shivered involuntarily at the rapid, seemingly effortless alteration.

"If you can postpone your breakfast for a little while longer, you may bear witness to the latest development. It is only right, since you are a member of court now."

His words reminded Clara of Frigga's compliments yesterday, the entire ill-fated scene with Loki, and the queen's warnings about the prince's expectations. Clara nodded to Thor, grabbed her camera, and they left together. She wondered if she ought to speak to him about the previous day—or part of it, at least. Perhaps it was better off to wait. There would be time later to ask him about it all.

Thor led her to the throne room, the halls eerily still and empty. As they approached the open doorways to the chamber, she saw that it was not nearly as full as it had been the day before, when the visitors from Svartalfheim were presented to Odin. _Where is everyone?_ she wondered. Thor did not pass through the golden doorways. Instead, he turned left and led her around to an entrance closer to the throne, bypassing the long walk through the room itself. Clara walked quickly to keep up with his stride, but she was quiet, too curious and nervous and a little overawed that she was being taken by such a _sub rosa _route. It was like seeing a Broadway show from backstage, only on a far greater scale.

They entered a side passage and emerged through a doorway toward the front of the throne room, visible—if not immediately noticeable—to anyone else there. Clara was glad that she had bothered to pack a nice outfit, and had taken all that time with her morning _toilette_. She saw Odin in his throne, speaking to Frigga standing beside him. Like the day before, warriors and sorcerers stood nearby.

Beside the lack of crowds, something else was different. The Svartálfar were gathered before the throne again, but there seemed to be more of them now. Clara's eyes swept across the group, noticing at least one that she had not seen yesterday.

A female Elf stood at the front of the Svartálfar, tall and slender and dark. Her flashing eyes rivaled the golden circlet around her forehead and the heavy golden necklace lying against her chest. Her heavy black hair was arranged in a pile of complicated braids high on her head, setting off her pointed ears and her muscular yet graceful shoulders. Her regal expression was enough to identify her as a figure of authority, had the crown not already done so. As Clara stared, the Elf turned, but the proud gaze passed her over and fastened onto Thor.

"The crown prince has returned to us," the Elf said, her voice as silky as the lavender gown draped over her form. "Shall we resume our discourse?"

"I cannot say that it has yet begun," Odin said. He was clearly irritated by the presence of this Dark Elf, even more than he was by the visitors yesterday. "I hope you do not come with complaints on behalf of your emissaries. They have received every possible courtesy since they arrived."

"So they assure me," the Elf said.

She had been watching the exchange so intently, Clara jumped when she felt breath on the side of her face. It was only Thor whispering in her ear.

"Queen Alflyse of Svartalfheim," he explained. "A delegation arrived on her behalf yesterday, but she arrived in person this morning, quite unexpected." Clara nodded in response.

"I am glad to hear that," Odin was saying. "We are eager to hear what has brought you to Asgard—and how you came to enter the realm, perhaps."

Queen Alflyse gave the king a satisfied little grin before saying, "Surely, Allfather, you would not begrudge us our own state secrets? Particularly when we use them to travel to Asgard in peace?"

The lips on Odin's already grim mouth thinned, and his uncovered eye narrowed. "But you did come for a purpose, did you not?"

"Of course, Your Highness," the Svartálfar queen said. "When I heard how well our tribute was received, I thought it best to come in my own person to deliver my respects and my congratulations to the Allfather—and to the Mighty Prince Thor. Even in Svartalfheim, we have received word of his victories in the Midgardian battles. The fugitive Prince Loki was returned to you as well, was he not?"

"Your felicitations are appreciated," Odin said. "It was kind of you to come all this way and take the trouble for such courtesies. It is not always the case that the affairs of Asgard reach Svartalfheim, I think, neither are they always of importance when they do."

"That may be true, Your Highness," Queen Alflyse said. She turned toward Thor again, and this time finally seemed to notice Clara standing beside him. "For example, we did not know that you have added to your court—with a lass not entirely of Asgardian origin."

Clara was so absorbed in watching the exchange that she did not immediately realize that the Dark Elf was speaking of her. Odin was also looking at her now, making her feel even less at ease.

"The lady is Clara McKenna, and our king has appointed her to his court for particular and significant purposes," Thor spoke up.

"Has he indeed?" Alflyse asked. She smirked. "I can scarcely envisage what ministerial purposes a girl could fulfill when she does not seem capable of speech."

Somehow, the remarks directed at Clara were too reminiscent of Loki's. Annoyed, she opened her mouth and took a step forward. "I _am _capable of speech, actually," Clara said. "And no, I'm not 'of Asgardian origin,' I'm from Earth—and proud of it."

She felt a hand on her shoulder. Thor was looking down at her with raised brows, his expression sending both a warning and sympathy. Clara pressed her lips together, perturbed that he seemed to want her to stop talking, and took a step back again. To her chagrin, the exchange of looks did not escape the Elf-queen's notice. She smiled, showing a set of brilliant teeth against the coal-dark skin.

"Appointed her as a pet for His Royal Highness, I don't doubt," Queen Alflyse said, turning to her retinue, who all chuckled appreciatively. Clara bristled, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Thor's hand drift toward Mjolnir, hanging from his belt.

"That is enough," Odin said. "Clearly you did not come only to congratulate my son on his victories, nor to inquire after the state of the palace. Queen Alflyse, I hope you will forgive the rudeness in my urgency, but I must ask you to speak on what has brought you to Asgard."

"As the Allfather wishes, we must perform," she said with a small curtsey. Clara could not tell if she was being sarcastic. "There has also been talk," Alflyse said slowly, evidently attempting to be delicate, "that the Crown Prince"—here she sent a coquettish glance in Thor's direction that Clara did not at all appreciate—"brought back _another_ lost treasure."

"Ah," Odin said. "And do we now come to the true purpose of this illustrious visit?"

"Mighty Allfather, there is no need for such accusatory tones. I do offer homage and my very best wishes. The Prince Thor has fulfilled no simple task. But I am duty-bound to my people, and a serious matter of our realm has been brought to my attention. I have come in the hopes that you will help me find a solution that is satisfactory to all parties."

"And this urgent matter?"

"I understand that the Tesseract is now contained in Asgard, with the rest of the Allfather's treasures."

"Have you another place in mind for it?" Odin asked dryly.

"Good King Odin, I have come to speak for others, to fulfill my obligations as queen and look after the interests of my realm and the Svartálfar therein. If this were not, as I said, brought to my attention and set upon my mind, I would not be here to disturb you. However, the tradition, history, and legends of Svartalfheim strongly indicate that the Tesseract's final home might, perhaps, _not_ be in Asgard."

She paused to let the words sink in, while every Asgardian present cleared their throats and glanced furtively at their neighbors.

"Our great sages and elders inform me," the queen continued, "that the Tesseract was pledged to Svartalfheim in payment for great services performed for Asgard in the past. The battle for Earth between Asgard and Jotunheim was aided by my people and the great tools they created. Many of the weapons Asgard still wields were forged in the fires of Svartalfheim." She paused to send a distinct glance to the weapon on Thor's belt.

"Madness," Thor muttered under his breath. Clara glanced at him for only a moment; she was too engaged in the Dark Elf-queen's conversation with Odin.

"My long-ago predecessor was promised a valuable artifact from Asgard's treasury in exchange for his aid in the war. He chose the Tesseract, but it…went missing. Now that it has been recovered after all this time, I am sure Asgard would wish to keep its promise to Svartalfheim, however ancient. Naturally, I do not wish to see my people deprived of something that is theirs by right. And you know, of course, that our realm has been fragmented and at odds for as long as anyone can remember—long before I assumed the throne. Such a promise fulfilled could aid my people's sense of pride and cooperation with each other. As king, you must be aware of how valuable that can be."

"Yes," Odin said. In contrast to the restless people around him, his expression had changed very little since Alflyse began her appeal. "I know this well."

"Thank you, Allfather." She gave him another flashing smile.

"What I do _not _know are the source of these claims you make to the Tesseract. You say sages and legend speak of it, but I have only your word. For such a powerful item, I must insist that the exchange be a little more…official."

"My word, then, counts for nothing?" Queen Alflyse asked, her eyes wide and her tone wounded.

"On the contrary," Odin said, "by your word you have brought the matter to our attention. We shall look into it and see what is to be done."

"I suppose your decision would be final, and we would have no chance for appeal," the queen said, bitterness sneaking into the melodic voice.

Odin lifted his staff and slammed it against the floor as he used it for leverage to stand. Everyone else in the chamber jumped at the thunderous noise. His voice, speaking with resolution, echoed over them.

"This discussion could take a circular route that will never be concluded until Ragnarok," Odin said. "I said I would look into it, and so I shall. I will suggest or promise nothing more than that. You and your people, of course, are invited to stay until this decision—this _compromise_—is reached." Before the Elf-queen could respond, he turned to Frigga. "May I depend upon your assistance, my queen, in seeing to the duties of hospitality?"

Frigga nodded to Odin and then to Alflyse before turning to the servants that seemed to appear out of nowhere—one of them being Herdis. The atmosphere was tense as the servants scattered and Frigga descended the steps from the throne to stand directly before the Dark Elves and their leader.

"Queen Alflyse," Frigga said, "if you would do the honor of coming with me, I will show you where you shall stay."

The Elf-queen cast one more resentful glance at Odin before she followed Frigga out of the throne room. The remaining Dark Elves followed servants to their own rooms. Odin, who had remained standing, turned from the throne with a whirl of his cloak and left through a back passageway, without so much as a glimpse in his son's direction. The tension gradually dissipated as the other Asgardians began to filter back out of the hall.

Heaving a weary sigh, Thor turned to look down at Clara again.

"I believe you wanted breakfast?" he said.

* * *

Shortly thereafter, Clara and Thor were sitting in a banquet room, the place vast and eerily vacant with no one else there. As Clara ate her breakfast, Thor gulped down his second. They had spoken little since leaving the throne room. Clara assumed that Thor needed to think about what was going on, and if she were honest, so did she.

Finally, however, she could no longer resist voicing the question that had been in her head almost since she first heard the Elf-queen's real reason for coming to Asgard. She took a bite of bread, chewed carefully, and swallowed before posing the question.

"Do you think Loki might have anything to do with this?" Clara asked.

Thor frowned at her. "What makes you say that?"

She shrugged. "This is all kinda sketchy, and he's the sketchiest character _I've _ever met."

Thor shook his head. "Loki has been a prisoner since I brought him back after the battle with the Chitauri. Odin himself stripped him of his powers. He has been under guard every moment since then. Have you any notion of when he might have had the chance to orchestrate this?"

"No," Clara said.

"You are determined to think the worst of him, I know—"

"Because he _did _the worst!" Clara snapped.

"I _know _what he has done!" Thor said. "You need not remind me. I am well acquainted with his tactics and his schemes. You are not nearly as knowledgeable in his ways as you like to believe. It would be to your advantage to keep silent about affairs that do not concern you!"

"Right," Clara said. "Because the guy who tried to blow up my planet, the reason I'm even _here,_ has _nothing_ to do with me."

"Do not twist my words," Thor said. "You have every right to be suspicious of Loki and curious about his whereabouts. But this business with Queen Alflyse hearkens back to ancient pacts and battles beyond the memory of your oldest ancestors. Her timing is unfortunate, but Loki does not enter into it, nor do you. I am sorry to be harsh, but there it is."

Clara sighed. "I don't like her," she said, picking at the food that remained on her plate.

"That, too, is well within your rights."

"She called me your _pet_."

Thor briefly fell silent. She heard his annoyance when he finally said, "Yes, she did."

"Sure hope _you_ don't see me that way," Clara said. Looking at him, she held up the finger that wore the blue-stoned ring. "It's not like you've got me on a leash. I could leave anytime I want to—don't forget that."

"No," Thor said. "I have not forgotten."

She dropped her hand and looked back down at her plate. "She's gorgeous, too."

"Indeed so."

"Did you…Is there any kind of arrangement between the two of you?" She hazarded a glance at him again and was rewarded with a baffled expression. "Like a…royal betrothal or something?"

"Why would you ask that?"

Clara shrugged. "I was having tea with Queen Frigga yesterday. I got here, and you were busy, and she wanted to 'visit.' She knew _something _was going on between us. Apparently, I'm not wrong to be in love with you, she says, but I'm still supposed to be on my guard because you'll be choosing a queen someday. She doesn't want me to be heartbroken, or something. Which I guess was…nice of her."

"And you think I have already chosen Queen Alflyse?" Thor prompted.

"I don't know. She's royalty too, and she's pretty hot. I don't know how you do things in Asgard, but that was good enough in Europe for a few thousand years."

It was Thor's turn to stare down at his food and pick at what was left. "I have already informed you that your feelings toward me are reciprocated. Do you believe I would say such a thing when I had already entered into such a crucial understanding with someone else?"

"No," Clara said, shaking her head. "I don't think you would. I'm sorry."

"This is not for you to be sorry for," Thor said. He stood up, stretching his arms and rolling his shoulders. "I must say, I have not enjoyed being so confined to the palace these last days. Shall we have another horseback outing?"

"I need to digest my breakfast first, but sure," Clara said. "I'll go change my shoes."

"Clara?" Thor took her hand as she tried to pass him to reach the doorway.

"What?"

He smiled gently. "She need not be a lady of royalty. More admirable qualities may be found in unexpected places—and people."

As she looked at him, both words and breath escaped her. She could only nod and return a vague smile of her own. It seemed to satisfy him, though, and he released her. She walked back to her rooms with custard in her knees and butterflies in her stomach.


	25. Left a Clouded Mind and a Heavy Heart

**A/N: Woohoo! Hello, everyone! I'm back to working on this story with a little more gusto, and I can't tell you how pleased I am. I hope you're still sticking with me throughout the pauses and hiatuses, because I still have a plot and I'm excited to get through it.**

**With that in mind, though, I **_**really **_**hope you like this chapter, because you're still probably going to have to wait a while for the next one. Even though I've got my writing enthusiasm back, and I'm trying to get back into the habit of writing 1-2 chapters ahead, the next chapter is complete crap. I basically vomited a bunch of ideas onto a Word document for the sake of writing **_**something **_**and getting my creativity flowing. Now I have to go back and decide what to keep, what to throw out, what to change, etc. Not to mention that I have been so long away from this story (and holy crap, I started it **_**a year ago?**_**) that I need to go back to earlier chapters and make sure I'm not leaving too many loose ends or writing myself into a gaping plot hole. And all that…may take me a while.**

**So there you have it, a look into my brilliant and not unorganized at **_**all **_**writing process.**

* * *

After reaching the stables and choosing their steeds, Thor led the way to the open country. When the vineyards came in sight, Clara smiled, recognizing and appreciating the gesture. As they rode between the rows of vines—now weighed down even further with ripening fruit—few words were spoken. Though he wanted clear, unconfined air, it was obvious that Thor's mind was anything but.

She certainly did not blame him for being preoccupied. Political tension was undesirable at any time, but the fact that it came so soon after the battle in Manhattan made Clara feel even more sorry for him. On top of everything else, Thor's concern for his brother hung constantly over his head. When she thought about it, Clara felt guilty about the smallest distraction she created, and wondered if her presence was anything but an unnecessary inconvenience anymore.

"How about we give the horses a rest?" she finally offered. "I'd like to take in the view."

Thor offered a grunt of assent before dismounting. He led Bothvar to a slope of grass that overlooked the vineyards and the mountains beyond. Clara swung down out of Vigdis' saddle and watched the horse trot over to where Bothvar began grazing. When she was satisfied that they would not run away, she moved to stand next to Thor.

Closer to him, she could see his sweet blue eyes were darkened and shadowed from the inside, as though his whole head were full of fog. He was not looking at her when she reached for his hand. At her touch, she had his attention—or a part of it. He gave her a vague smile and gently squeezed the small hand with his own, but he looked away then. His gaze was concentrated on the mountains, though he did not seem to see them.

Clara let him be, but did not release her hold just yet. She tilted her head back to savor the warmth of the Asgardian sun on her face. Just as she began to think she might still enjoy herself, she heard several more sets of hoofbeats. Bothvar and Vigdis raised their heads, their ears twitching toward the new noises, as Clara and Thor turned to look behind them. Sif and Fandral were coming, their horses at a full gallop.

_Damn Heimdall's all-seeing eyes_, Clara thought as the warriors approached. She dropped Thor's hand, and he did not seem to notice.

"What is it, my friends?" Thor asked when the horses stopped before him. Clara could have wept and strangled either Sif or Fandral when she heard the weariness in Thor's voice. Was he never to have a moment's peace?

"The king calls for your presence and your council," Fandral said. "There is to be a feast tonight in honor of Queen Alflyse." The warrior nodded a greeting to Clara, but without his customary grin. It was enough to inform her of the seriousness of the whole affair.

"And Queen Frigga urgently requests your advice on a matter concerning the prisoner Loki," Sif said.

"We know not which demand comes first," Fandral added sardonically.

"Neither of them can wait?" Clara asked.

Although Sif always had been friendly—or at least courteous—to Clara, she delivered a sharp look toward her now. Clearly she thought the Midgardian spoke out of turn. If Clara's bluntness bothered Thor, he said nothing of it. He only sighed.

"Thank you for the messages," he said. "Would you care to travel back with us?"

The four of them set off toward the palace, falling into pairs. Sif took the liberty of drawing her horse up beside Bothvar to speak to Thor. Clara could not hear much, but it seemed to concern Svartalfheim. Despite Thor's insistence that he and Sif were nothing more than childhood friends, Loki's insidious suggestions had done their work. Clara watched the back of Sif's dark head with a contempt she hoped the warrior maiden could feel.

"And what think you of the Dark Queen?" Fandral asked as he rode beside Clara.

"I'm trying not to think of her at all," she answered, still staring daggers at Sif.

He chuckled. "You can hardly avoid her. Unless you believe that Queen Frigga would refuse you an invitation to supper, given your treatment of the Jotun bastard?"

Wide-eyed, Clara turned to look directly at Fandral. "You heard about that?"

"I confess, I did hear it spoken of," he said. At the horror on Clara's face, he said, "Oh, my dear, do not fret. From what the guard told me, what you said to Loki was hardly anything at all. The queen can be very defensive about him, even now, but she is _sensible_. She will not be annoyed for long, if at all."

"Thanks," Clara said dryly.

She did not dare speak aloud her concerns that her behavior toward Loki would prompt the queen to deem her unfit for the crown prince. In fact, Clara did not say anything else for the rest of the ride. Whether he had nothing to say—a highly improbable situation—or he was choosing to demonstrate unusual sensitivity, Fandral followed suit.

At the palace entrance, they left the horses with servants. Thor strode purposefully into the palace and Sif stayed beside him, apparently thinking herself useful. Fandral followed as they turned down the main hallway. Clara hung back, not sure whether to follow, or what she could contribute if she did. Would they resent her tagging along? Should she go to her room, like a good little girl?

When she remembered her original purpose for being there, she sighed. Yes, she _should _go to her room—but to do her job. Her computer was waiting. Even if she left out the details of the current political tensions, she had enough information now to type up at least one blog entry about the Svartálfar, and post it when she had Earth-based wifi again. How S.H.I.E.L.D. would react when they found out about the existence of the Dark Elves, she had no idea. It seemed impossible that she hide this from them.

To make sure that the unpleasantness of last night and this morning was not repeated, she spoke to the first servant she passed and asked him to send Herdis to the Lady Clara's chamber. She tried to suppress a grin. It had been a long time since she had an opportunity to pull rank—and she could get used to it again.

Herdis did not come to her for almost an hour. Assuming that she was tending to Queen Alflyse or one of the other Svartálfar, Clara used the time to draft a blog post and scribble some thoughts into her journal about what to tell S.H.I.E.L.D.

_Nothing about Svartalfheim, _she decided. _Not yet._

How could she possibly answer questions about this new realm, when she could barely give them sufficient information about Asgard? But without mentioning them, what else could she be expected to talk about, even just for her regular readers? She usually kept her website focused on photography and her travels. It was not personal enough to discuss her feelings toward Thor, her experiences with Loki, or her date with Steve.

Clara groaned, remembering the _Post_ and wondering if Safia still hated her. Maybe she _should _write about her dinner with Steve, and point out the inaccuracies in the article. Her comments section was probably a disaster area by now.

With all the turmoil going on in her heart about Thor, she had given little space in her mind to Fury, Romanoff, and the rest. Now that she was thinking about S.H.I.E.L.D. again, it was almost enough to make her panic.

Fortunately, Herdis interrupted the worst of it. The maid was excessively apologetic for her neglect, making Clara feel guilty about being so peevish that morning.

"There will be a banquet tonight, my lady," Herdis confirmed. "It will be attended by the court of Asgard, and the highest ranks of Queen Alflyse's retinue. Allow me to help you prepare?"

Herdis more than made up for failing to bring Clara breakfast. Clara did not have a dress of her own that seemed suitable, but the maid—out of thin air, it seemed—found her another gown in a pretty jade color and a fabric too soft to be believed. She even found a bracelet and hair ornaments. After what had happened to Kadlin, Clara was hesitant to wear them, but finally gave in. The jewelry was too gorgeous to pass up, and surely Herdis would not have stolen it.

Not until she was walking down the hall, skirts flapping around her legs, did Clara realize that she _could _have turned the ring to go back to New York, raided her apartment for another dress, and returned for the banquet. But though she had in her possession a magic transport through space, it did not alter time. She probably would have run out of _that_.

_I wonder if Odin's magicians could use the Tesseract to build me a Tardis_, she wondered, smiling to herself.

Tension was palpable as she neared the banqueting hall. Far from the lively music and chatter of her first feast in Asgard—which had the benefit of taking place in the warm, open air—tonight's affair drifted in hushed murmurs on somber notes played by grim-faced musicians. While the first event was essentially a festival, this seemed more like a wake.

In fact, Clara wondered if the Asgardians actually _were _mourning something. She felt a plunging sensation in her gut. Had Odin capitulated? Was this Queen Alflyse to take possession of the Tesseract and bring it back to her Dark Elves? Why should that matter—and why should the idea fill Clara with dread?

Her heart beat a little faster as she stood in one of the doorways to the banquet hall, feeling awkward when she peered inside and saw no one familiar. A few Svartálfar stood in a cluster, dressed in their finest and speaking furtively amongst themselves. The Asgardians there—two boastful male warriors and a shy-looking woman—were strangers to Clara.

As she hesitated, she heard metallic footfalls behind her. Turning, her stomach gave another lurch.

Loki was coming toward her, two guards close behind him. Clara saw, with ever-increasing horror, that he wore no chains. His face was blank again, but when he stepped up to her, she saw a glint in his eyes.

"I assume that the spectaclehas not yet begun," he said. "Or did you prefer to observe it all from here?"

"What are you doing here?" Clara asked, unable to speak above a whisper.

He broke his icy facade, allowing his lips to drift into a smirk. "I might ask you the same, little Midgardian."

"_Clara_."

One of his eyebrows twitched. "I beg your pardon?"

"My _name _is Clara," she said. "You know it, and if we have to share a table again, I'd appreciate it if you _used _it. Not 'little Midgardian,' not 'mortal,' but Clara—_my name_."

She scowled, but he held her gaze evenly. He dropped the smile, but the twinkle in his eyes remained. "As you like…Clara."

She tried to hold back a shiver at the chill his voice cast over her. She was regretting her demand; her own name sounded indecent on his tongue.

"_Loki!_"

Clara turned eagerly to the sound of Thor's voice, however intimidating his tone. The crown prince walked urgently toward them, Frigga following him at a distance.

"Why are you up here?" he asked. Without waiting for Loki to speak, he turned to the guards. "You were not to escort him yet."

"Simple miscommunication, surely," Loki said.

Ignoring him, Thor pointed an accusing finger at the soldiers. "You shall face discipline for your error." He looked away from them, but Clara saw their faces, and the exchange of confused, fearful looks.

"Are you all right?" Thor asked Clara.

She gave him a smile that was bordering on a simper. "Of course—why wouldn't I be?"

Thor nodded. With another angry glare at the guards and a squint at Loki, he offered Clara his arm. She looked around to see if Frigga showed any signs of objection. It did not seem kosher that a Midgardian enter the room before the queen. But she had already gone into the banquet hall.

Thor led Clara to a chair at the lengthy table, then stood to her left. Clara did not sit down, but remained behind her chair, following Thor's example. Recognizing her place beside him, her throat went dry. He did nothing to conceal the fact that _something _was going on between them. It was a relief, of course, as well as nerve-wracking. She had not missed Queen Alflyse's disdainful attitude toward the presence of a Midgardian in the palace of Asgard. And, of course, there was Loki. He sneered at Thor's romantic interest, of course, and doubtless his attitude could be found amongst others in the realm.

The musicians were ordered to pause. When the music ceased, so did every conversation in the room. Queen Alflyse entered, surrounded by several ladies-in-waiting and Svartálfar warriors. Frigga greeted her and showed her to a place at the table near the head, across from Thor. The other Dark Elves lined up behind other chairs, their ranks becoming more clearly defined. No one was seated until Odin entered and took his place at the head. Clara noticed that Loki was placed further down, next to one of the more brutal-looking Asgardian soldiers.

"Asgard's reputation for hospitality is well deserved," Alflyse said when they were well into the meal. She smiled at Frigga. "I have never been so well attended as by your servants. I am quite tempted to bring a few of them home with me."

"The lives of our attendants are their own," Frigga said. "I'm afraid we cannot offer them as gifts."

"Ah," the Dark Queen said. "Then I suppose Asgardian hospitality is not quite what it is said to be," she added wryly. There was a tense silence among those seated closest to her—Thor and Clara included—as she looked up and down the table.

"Then again," Alflyse continued, "it may be _too _generous. From my vantage point, I see not only the human of Midgard, but a dangerous prisoner as well, and at a state banquet, no less. You do break bread with some strange beings, Allfather."

"The Lady Clara is a member of court as ambassador to Midgard," Odin replied. "And it is at the request of both the crown prince and the queen that we have brought Loki to this table."

"Oh?" Alflyse's eyebrows rose dramatically. "An ambassador to Midgard. This _is _a new development. I have never heard of such a thing. Are we to expect such a courtesy extended to Svartalfheim?"

Odin frowned, but she only grinned, her tone coquettish.

"No matter. I am pleased to hear that the great Odin heeds counsel, at least sometimes. This gives me hope, and quite piques my curiosity. Might I be hasty or even impertinent and ask whether you have thought on your…opinion, shall we say…about the fate of the Tesseract? Perhaps I am silly to ask—after all, I was not summoned for any official discussion…"

Odin cleared his throat. "I think that is best left for after dinner, Your Ladyship. Let us not complicate anyone's enjoyment of the meal."

The Elf-Queen's expression froze for a moment. "It sounds as though you expect me to be displeased by what you have to say."

"Again, we must wait until later."

"If you have something to say, why delay it?"

Odin sighed. "I have consulted with my own sages and sorcerers, as well as my son, my future successor."

He glanced toward Thor, who had stopped eating long ago to listen to Odin and Alflyse's exchange. Clara, too, had paused in the meal, losing her appetite to nerves at Alflyse's increasingly hostile tone.

"With respect, Queen Alflyse, we can find no just cause for releasing the Tesseract into the custody of Svartalfheim. For the sake of the Nine Realms, it must remain a treasure of Asgard."

The Elf-Queen's expression shifted, and Clara wondered if she was about to burst into tears. Then she smiled sadly, speaking in a soft, pitiable voice.

"Allfather, surely you are wise and your motives true. But would you begrudge me and my people the chance to do our part to maintain peace and prosperity in the universe?"

"Not at all," Odin said. "But I am afraid the Tesseract cannot be part of whatever opportunities meet you."

Again her expression changed, her eyes glinting with barely concealed rage. "This is your answer—reached well out of my presence, when I was the one to bring the matter to your attention at all? While I was entertained by the queen with tea and vapid chatter, and my attendants shown Asgard's gardens and served palace sweets, you were consulting with _your _people, _your _advisors, behind my back. And _this _is Asgard's hospitality?"

"We may discuss it further, after dinner," Odin said, maddeningly calm even as Frigga flushed with embarrassment. "But at the moment, I do not see that—"

"Clearly there is nothing _left _to discuss," Alflyse interrupted, practically gnashing her teeth. "You have done it all already, as I remained ignorant!"

"So be it." There was a great scraping sound as Odin pushed back his massive chair from the table and stood. The other Asgardians scrambled to follow suit in a show of respect. A few of the Svartálfar halfheartedly did the same, as did Clara, but Alflyse remained in her seat, glaring up at Odin.

"If you remain so dissatisfied," Odin continued, "we will conclude the discourse immediately. Thor…warriors…come with me. Queen Alflyse, you shall, of course, bring whatever attendants and representatives you desire to accompany you. The rest of you…please continue to enjoy your supper."

Thor, still standing, turned to meet Clara's gaze. "I will return the moment I can," he said softly.

"What should _I_ do?" Clara asked fretfully. This was worse than the most awkward holiday dinner.

"Stay and finish your meal, if you like. Fret not—you will be safe, and I will find you." He smiled—she assumed he was trying to be reassuring—and gently, briefly touched her cheek before he left.

Clara watched him go, but caught a look of hatred from the eyes of the Dark Queen before the company left the banquet hall. Following Queen Frigga, Clara took her seat again, only to realize who was left. Beside herself and the queen, there was one Asgardian lady, one man…and Loki.

There were guards at the door, but somehow that did not make her feel much better. Neither did the heavy silence that no one seemed willing to break. Not a single breath stirred or voice murmured. The only sounds came from chewing and the clink of cutlery.

_What the hell just happened? _Clara asked herself. No matter how she looked at it, it was not good. Alflyse seemed to hate Clara personally, and she was certainly more hostile than she first appeared in the throne room. Odin would not, it seemed, give her the Tesseract, and well done there. But how desperate was the Elf-Queen? What were the Svartálfar willing to do to obtain the powerful relic?

Clara wished she had found a way to slip out with Thor and follow them to the meeting. She finished the meal quickly and begged Queen Frigga's pardon from the table. The queen nodded, even offering a small smile. Perhaps Fandral was right in saying that she would not be annoyed with Clara for long. Clara was prepared to say she had a headache if Frigga wondered why her guest left the meal early, but she asked no questions. Clara was glad; she hated to lie to her again.

Out of the room, alone in the hallway, she listened for any sounds that might tell her where the meeting was being held. She took a few steps in one direction, then froze.

_Heimdall_, she remembered. She almost slammed a fist into the wall when she thought of it. _Damn his eyes! _Did he know what she would be seeking? Would he have a way of warning Thor and Odin if she did manage to come too close to the private discussions?

As she stood, debating, she heard something else behind her, and whirled around to look. Her heart jumped into her throat.

"I know where they've gone," Loki said.

He had come up behind her so silently—and unguarded. Clara's eyes wandered to his untethered wrists and his unshackled boots and back up to his face, now bearing a vague smile. How had anyone allowed him to leave the dining room this way? Where were his guards? She had never seen him without at least two, much larger than he, since she had first come to Asgard. What was going on?

Clara was about to ask, but when she opened her mouth, all she could say was, "But Heimdall…"

Loki's chuckle was low and cold. "It is no matter." He took a few steps toward her. She pressed herself against the wall, but he moved so that he stood beside her. He paused, tipped his head in one direction of the corridor, stared into her eyes, and said, "Come."

_Murderous psychopath, _she reminded herself. _Jack the Ripper_…

But she went.

Against every instinct of self-preservation, every whisper of intuition, every ounce of common sense, Clara walked beside him, Loki leading by half a pace. No more words were spoken between them, but every step of the way, Clara struggled against a haze threatening to engulf her mind. She had no reason to trust him and no reason to believe he was even leading her in the right direction. His physical strength alone was more than twice hers, and he could inflict every conceivable damage upon her. Yet she found herself wanting to reach over and grasp his hand in a plea for protection.

She nearly did—her fingers twitched—before she heard voices drifting ahead of them. As they came closer, she distinguished the voices of Odin, Thor, and a shrill voice that must have been Alflyse.

When they were close enough to tell which room the speakers were in, Loki stepped up behind one of the large sculptures scattered throughout the corridor. Clara, too, paused in the shadows to listen. She heard the rumble of Thor's voice, but still could not hear his specific words. Odin's came more clearly.

"If you are willing, we may perhaps revisit the matter in time. As it is, there are concerns with Midgard, and of course you have seen—"

"And will we have reason to believe you might change your mind?" Alflyse said, her voice no longer weighed down with the honeyed tones she had used before.

"We cannot know, but of course that would be the purpose in holding talks at a later time."

"How could I have expected a different outcome?" Alflyse said, scoffing. "Svartalfheim and my people have always been pushed aside, unworthy of any regard from the great beings of Asgard, unworthy of any place of honor. You would take our treasures and exploit our craftsmen. You would let the Tesseract fall into the hands of _vermin_ like that Midgardian wretch!"

Clara felt her face grow hot.

"Ah, but the great Allfather will never let another place in all of Yggdrasil share a particle of esteem!" Alflyse concluded with thick sarcasm.

"It is regrettable that this is your opinion," Odin said. "Perhaps, over the course of your stay, you will better understand our perspective."

"There will be no further stay, I'm afraid," the Dark Queen said coldly. "We have no purpose here now, and I and my people have been insulted quite enough. We shall take our leave and trouble you no further, _Great Odin Allfather_."

There was a sound of clinking armor and several footsteps. Clara again pressed herself against the wall, hoping she was concealed well enough by the shadows and the sculpture to be overlooked. Alflyse and her retinue left the chamber and marched down the corridor, away from Clara and Loki's hiding place. They waited, but Thor, Odin, and the other Asgardians did not appear. When the Svartálfar were out of sight and earshot, Clara could hear Thor's voice inside the room.

"Do you think this is the end of it?"

"I would hope so, but I fear that it might not be," Odin answered. "We must keep a closer eye on Svartalfheim than we have in many ages."

"Could there be any further danger to Midgard?" Thor asked.

"From the Dark Elves, you mean? I think not. Alflyse herself has said that her people are divided. She will rail against our alliance with Midgard, but ultimately it will come to nothing."

"But if they have a secret passage to Asgard, then why not Midgard?"

"They do not have the power to reach Midgard," Odin said sternly. "And we shall not allow them to obtain the means to possess such power."

"The Tesseract," Thor said, his voice almost a whisper that Clara could barely hear.

"Precisely. Now, I would ask you all to depart, and leave me to think in privacy."

Suppressing a gasp, Clara turned to Loki, somehow hoping he would conceal them even further from view. But when she looked behind her, he was gone. She had huddled alone in the shadows, she did not know for how long. She held her breath and pressed closer to the statue as Thor rushed by, heading back toward the dining hall. The other Asgardians moved more slowly, but most of them followed him. Clara watched as Fandral, Volstagg, and Hogun passed her, with Sif a few paces behind.

The warrior maiden paused, her head held high, and turned back. Her keen eyes immediately met Clara's. Clara suddenly felt like a child caught looking for her Christmas presents. Sif said nothing, however. She only sighed and shook her head before she continued on her way.

Knowing that Odin was the only one left in the next room, Clara did not wait long before she followed the others. She peeked into the dining hall, but Thor was not there. Loki, however, was in his chair, surrounded again by guards, as though nothing was amiss and he had never been gone. Clara scowled before she stole away again and rushed for her own palace rooms, miraculously avoiding anyone else.

She was slightly out of breath when she reached her room, but of course Thor had gotten there before her. His expression was so full of concern, Clara thought he would interrogate her on her whereabouts.

"I thought you'd gone home," he said. She shook her head. He sighed and continued to speak.

"Alas, Clara, I regret to say that Queen Alflyse departed our talks on…less than cordial terms. I…I think it may be best for you to return to Midgard, to be among your own people, until we decide what else should be done, if anything."

"Wait," Clara said. "Am I in danger?" _Well, my roommate might try to smother me with a pillow_…

"No, but if Alflyse comes back, she may be more willing to cooperate if…well, without the presence of mortals. It is not fair, I know, but it is her prejudice, and we would like to provide what appeasement we can. We know not what may come if she is provoked further. But the Svartálfar have no way to enter Midgard, and you have no reason to fear them there. Heimdall will watch for you. Of course, the choice is yours—you will keep the ring, and can return when, or _if_ you wish."

Clara frowned. "Do you really just want me out of the way?"

He looked at her sadly. "I would not wish you away from me, but I believe this the best course for all, just a short while."

"What if I said no?"

His blue eyes hardened slightly, and she could see the signs of anger of a prince refused. "The choice is yours, and I will not leave you unprotected. But I think it best that you be safely out of reach."

They watched each other in silence for a few moments in which it seemed that neither was prepared to give way. At last, however, Clara sighed.

"Fine, I'll go," she said. "I have my own stuff to do, and I'm supposed to meet Tony soon anyway."

"I will, of course, accompany you home," Thor said.

Clara was about to refuse him out of mere petulance, but when she wondered when she would see him again, she thought twice about it. She nodded and gathered her things.

_Home_, she thought to herself. _Where is that, anyway?_


	26. Fare Thee Well, Little Broken Heart

**A/N: Hello, friends and readers! Believe it or not, this chapter is being posted sooner than I thought it would be. And I have more coming down the line. This weekend I talked out the next few chapters with a friend, and my fic-writing enthusiasm has returned to full force. I hope you're ready, because there is some exciting stuff coming!**

**Apologies to everyone who is waiting for Loki in this chapter. I feel your pain—I enjoy writing him every bit as much as you enjoy reading about him, so I honestly try to get him in wherever possible. And you'll see why it just wasn't possible in this chapter. This fic has a long ways to go yet, and I promise you that there will be more Loki in the future. But this chapter does have, in my mind, the next-best thing to Loki, and I'll leave you to guess who/what that is. Oh! And a cameo with a canon character who hasn't appeared already, I don't think. Hopefully the excitement of the next few chapters will be a sort of consolation prize for no-show Loki.**

* * *

Outside her apartment building, Clara wanted to slam her head against the wall when she realized that she had neglected something.

"Thor, wait," she said. "If my roommate's here, I need to tell you something." He frowned, but allowed her to continue. "When Steve Rogers told me his tragic love story, and inspired me to tell you how I really felt about you, we were having dinner. He bought me dinner to apologize for getting me into some trouble with S.H.I.E.L.D. But someone at the restaurant thought _we _were a couple, and this stupid website published a picture of us leaving the restaurant. My roommate has been…_interested _in Steve, let's just say, and she didn't believe me when I said he and I were just friends. I want to warn you in case she's home and she…says something about it."

Upon unlocking the apartment door and stepping inside, Clara met a sight wholly different from her expectations. It was dark, except for the glow of the television screen. On the couch she saw the backs of two different heads—Safia's dark, long hair, and a head with blond, short hair that looked just like—

"Steve?" Clara blurted out. Both heads turned to look at them; both individuals scrambled to their feet in response. It _was_ Steve—sitting a respectable distance from Safia on the couch.

"Thor!" was the first word out of Steve's mouth. He smiled and approached the Asgardian to shake his hand. Clara did not have time to feel affronted before she was choked by Safia's hug.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry I've been such a bitch." Safia was almost in tears as she took Clara by the wrist and dragged her into the kitchen area.

"I forgive you," Clara said, her relief making her willing to forget being called a whore. "But…what's he doing here?"

Safia sighed. "He came to talk to _you_. I guess Tony Stark told him about the _Post _article or something? I lied and said you were coming back soon and offered to entertain him until then. I didn't actually _think_ you'd be back tonight."

"'Entertain him'?" Clara echoed. "Oh god, Safia, did you and he—?"

She was starting to sound a little like Tony.

"Are you _kidding?_" Safia asked. "That's how I knew you were telling the truth. We just killed a six-pack of Sam Adams between us, the movie's almost over, and _I'm _the one trying to cop a feel."

Clara burst out laughing. The sound not only made the guys stop and stare at her, but surprised herself. When was the last time she felt comfortable enough to laugh like that? She cleared her throat.

"Well, good luck in the future, I guess," she said. "And I do appreciate the apology."

"Yeah," Safia said, obviously uncomfortable. She must have been remembering her own choice of words. She glanced over her shoulder, then back to Clara. "So…that's Thor?"

"Yes, it is."

"Wow."

"Exactly."

"Is he staying over?"

"No," Clara said airily. "He's just escorting me home. You see, he's very gentlemanly for a barbarian prince." She grinned. "You and Steve should finish your movie, though."

It took some convincing before Steve agreed to it. His delight at seeing Thor again was touching, but Safia finally got him to sit down as she skipped the DVD back to when they had been interrupted. Thor followed Clara into her room. She dumped her bags on the floor and flopped onto her bed with a sigh.

"Is everything well with you now?" Thor asked.

Clara smirked. "In some ways. Less so in others." She reached toward him and tugged on his hand until he sat beside her. She turned to face him and brought her arms up around his neck. They kissed, and she leaned against his chest.

"I was hoping you could stay tonight," she murmured. "Forget your princely duties for a few hours."

She closed her eyes when she felt his hands on her back, gently pressing her body to his. She wanted to keep this moment as long as she could. Her apartment smelled like old Thai food and unwashed laundry, her bed was too small, and there was peeling paint on the walls. But here, away from Odin, Frigga, Loki, the Warriors Three, and potentially hostile Svartálfar, she finally felt as though he was hers. In the morning, she might have to deal with S.H.I.E.L.D. and whatever Tony wanted, and Thor would have to resume his own obligations. But right now, she felt like she could breathe freely, and allow herself to remember that he did love her. It seemed to keep getting lost in the shuffle…

"I may tarry longer, if you wish," he said softly.

"I want you to stay," she said. _But _I _don't want to stay_. "But…Thor?"

"Yes?"

"What if…what if I gave up my position in the court? What if I was just…nobody again? I don't think I'm doing any good. Actually, I'm making it worse, if you have to send me away to make the Dark Elves willing to negotiate."

Thor looked at her sadly. "You are not, and never will be, 'nobody.' We did not intend for you to participate in the relations between Asgard and Svartalfheim. Father wanted you to speak well of us _here_, with your people. If you have convinced one person that we desire peace and friendship with Midgard, you have done well. We thought it best that you leave Asgard to protect that work, and to shield you from the Svartálfar. But if you do not wish to carry on, of course you have liberty to refuse."

"No, I…I'll stay and keep at it," she said. "And you won't forget about me?"

He answered her by pulling her close to him and resting his cheek against her hair. "That is no longer possible, nor would I desire it to be so." She did not reply, and they kept silent for a minute. Then he asked, "Now, would you like me to stay?"

"I guess not," she said. "I don't know how long _Captain America _is going to be here, and that's like having father, brother, pastor, and the President of the United States in the next room, and I'm just not into that kind of kinky awkwardness." She sat up on her knees so that their faces were level—and she could smile at his confused expression. "I'll just say goodbye now, and hope it won't be for long."

She tangled her fingers in his long hair and kissed him as though it was their last. She almost wanted to cry when she felt the gentle way he handled her, as though overly conscious of the difference in their physical strengths. The roommate and her guest were nearly forgotten, but Thor took Clara at her word and, all too soon, he smiled at her and stood up.

"I will come back and inform you of what transpires."

* * *

The apartment was quiet when she woke up in the morning, and remained that way for hours. Though her own bed was starting to feel strange to her, Clara was actually relieved to get her own breakfast.

She took her time to eat, shower, and dress. She checked her blog and email and, as she had dreaded, found the comments full of people asking about the piece of _Post _gossip and her dinner with Steve Rogers. She typed up a quick response, and then published the blog post she had already been working on. By the time Clara had edited some of her newest pictures of Alflyse and the other Dark Elves, it was time to head to Stark Tower.

A tall, thin woman with strawberry-blond hair and a blue suit greeted her in the foyer.

"Clara McKenna?" she said. "You're right on time. I'm Pepper Potts."

"Ooh, glad to meet the real power behind Stark Industries," Clara said. The older woman grinned.

"Follow me," she said, grabbing a stack of folders and papers as they walked past a nearby table. "You've been having a rough time, I hear."

"That's one way to put it," Clara said.

"I'd tell you it gets easier," Pepper said, "but I'd hate to insult your intelligence."

"Thanks…I guess."

"I'd also tell you to get out while you still can, but you probably wouldn't listen."

"Not really, no," Clara said. She was starting to feel nervous. "How much did Tony tell you?"

"Not much. I read your blog and the _Huffington Post_ interview."

"I…actually forgot about that. Crap, that would be out by now, wouldn't it?" She must have missed Simon's email in the flood of new messages.

"Tony's got some ideas for you, but I'll let him give you the details," Pepper continued. "He likes your father, but you know, I think he wants to help because he likes you, too. Don't tell him I told you."

Clara was not sure how to respond, so she didn't—except for a nervous chuckle. Pepper led her down a hallway and a set of stairs, into a room filled with computer towers, glowing screens, and blinking lights. She felt like she had stepped into either a techie's wet dream or a secret agent's headquarters. Given that this was Stark Tower, it was probably both.

"Your 2:00 is here," Pepper called out.

Tony's head popped up from the maze of technology like a goateed prairie dog.

"McKenna, just in time. Come on over."

"Tony, paperwork needs to be signed," Pepper said, lifting a page and waving it. "_Today_."

"Just leave 'em, I'll John Hancock 'em on the way out."

Pepper slapped the paperwork down on top of the nearest surface. "Good luck," she said to Clara. "Call me when you feel like you want to punch him."

"So, see you in thirty seconds?" Clara said.

"Har, har," Tony interrupted. "Come on McKenna, time to get down to business."

"What's going on?" she asked him.

"Just get over here, would you?"

Clara stepped around wires and in-between appliances, but she was tempted to climb on top of the computers and jump across them like stones in a river. He probably could have her killed for that. When she reached him, Tony was standing next to a machine comparatively smaller than the others.

He pointed to the appliance. "That's you."

"What?" She looked down at it, but couldn't tell what was special about it.

"If you want it, that is, and you'd be an idiot not to."

"You want to back up and start from the beginning?"

Tony sighed. "You still pissed about working with S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

"Well, they haven't bothered me since I got back last night, but yeah, I'd still rather not."

"So why are you still doing it?"

"Aside from the fact that they could take down my blog, confiscate everything I own, spy on me—oh wait, they _do that already_—and lock me up indefinitely if I don't cooperate? I mean, the money's good, but need I say more?"

"Nope, that'll do," Tony said. "And you've got a point. _Unless _your precious data is hosted someplace inaccessible to Fury and all his little henchmen."

"Is that possible?" Clara asked, hardly daring to hope for an answer in the affirmative.

"If Jarvis can break into S.H.I.E.L.D.'s secure files—which he can—he can keep S.H.I.E.L.D. out of mine. And this"—he patted the machine—"could be all yours. Host your photos, your website, everything, anything you want, without S.H.I.E.L.D. breaking in and cutting you off."

Clara lost her ability to breathe for a moment. He seemed to be offering her a solution to all her earthly problems. Unfortunately, recent events had given her trust issues, and she could hardly believe it. If she understood him correctly, this meant she could speak freely, she could _write _freely, without worrying about her things going missing. She could worry solely about public reaction, not S.H.I.E.L.D.'s reaction, if she posted more provocative material.

"People could still access my website?"

"That's the point," Tony answered.

"But I'd be free of S.H.I.E.L.D.," she said.

"Well, your stuff would be. They could still track _you_ and cuff you and jail you and have you tortured—and hey, no judgment, maybe you're into that kind of thing—but they couldn't take your data."

"Assuming it works?" she asked.

"I assume."

"Well, sounds good," Clara said, allowing herself a smile even as she was trying to keep her cool. "But…what do you want from me for it?"

Tony shook his head. "The same thing I asked for before, McKenna. Keep Steve Rogers entertained and out of my hair."

"That's really all you want?" _I don't even have to do that,_ she wanted to say, thinking of Safia.

He shrugged. "What can I say? I'm just that great a guy. Besides, you said it already—what do you have that I'd want?"

"After meeting Pepper? There _better_ be nothing."

Tony chuckled. "Good answer. Come back tomorrow afternoon, we'll get you set up. And make sure you don't start using this to _deliberately _piss off S.H.I.E.L.D. I'm giving you only one weapon against their whole arsenal. It won't take Fury long to discover they're being kept out, and he'll know who to blame first."

Her cool was not to be kept. Clara groaned with relief and leaned forward. Before Tony had a chance to get away, she had captured him in a tight hug.

"Okay, I get it, you're grateful." He squirmed and pushed until she stepped away from him, but he was still grinning. "Save it for Hercules, huh?"

"Tony," Clara groaned.

He scoffed. "Don't give me that innocent 'well, I _never!_' I know what's going on."

"What did Steve tell you?" Clara asked, wondering if Captain America _ever_ kept his mouth shut.

"Nothing—I'm just a really good guesser."

Clara was quiet then, choosing to let Tony believe what he wanted. He could have that much for putting her one step ahead of S.H.I.E.L.D. Granted, they could still arrest her for concealing information…but she didn't want to think about that yet.

Clara was tense as she ran errands, made dinner, and fulfilled Tony's instructions for preparing her data for transfer the next day. She kept waiting for a car to pull up beside her, waiting for Agent Romanoff's knock at the door, waiting for a threatening phone call. But there was no sign of S.H.I.E.L.D. The anticipation weighed down on her. Did they have something bigger than Clara to worry about now?

She thought of the Svartálfar. Had Thor been wrong about the risk they posed to Earth? Even if they could reach the Earth, they had no reason to, as far as she could see. Queen Alflyse was quite intent on possessing the Tesseract, and that was safe in Asgard. Was Loki up to something? Maybe it was none of those things. Maybe S.H.I.E.L.D. just had other things to deal with.

So did she, as it happened. Going over her emails again, she found requests for appearances from a local news channel, a podcast run by several conspiracy nuts, two radio shows, a political organization she had never heard of, and blogs hoping for guest posts. These were mixed in with a seemingly endless bombardment of emails from people who had seen the _New York Post _photo of her and Steve, or had read the _Huffington Post _interview. Plus, she already had several guest blogs to write, due in a few days. She would have to start turning down a lot more requests if she was to keep producing her own material.

Around the fortieth email, her heart nearly stopped.

_Dear Ms. McKenna:_

_Sen. McKenna requests that you telephone his D.C. office between 11:30am and 12:00pm on Wednesday, July 18. Please respond to this email to confirm the time._

_Regards,_

_Aaron Rainey_

_Correspondence Assistant to Sen. Frederick McKenna_

_Washington, D.C. Office _

The first communication from her father in over two years, and it was through his assistant. And he expected _her _to make the call. Of course, it was already Thursday the 19th, but that was hardly the issue.

She had no idea why he would be initiating contact at all. All her family news came through her mother. Clara assumed that everything she told her mother had been passed on to her father, but it was never mentioned. Clara did not even know if he so much as looked at her blog on his own, though of course he had to have known what his younger daughter had been up to…

_He probably was offended by something I said in the _HuffPo _interview, _Clara thought bitterly. Public image and politics was all that he had ever cared about. If she was right, a 30-minute phone call would be nothing but that, and as such would she treat it.

_Sorry_, _but it's just one more request I have to turn down,_ she said to herself, hitting the "Delete" button.

_Maybe_ I _could use a personal assistant after all_, she thought as she went back to typing, hoping she could avoid carpal tunnel surgery before age 30.

* * *

Back at Stark Tower, as Tony and Jarvis worked to transfer her website and files to a new host, Clara casually mentioned how she had heard nothing from S.H.I.E.L.D. in the 36 hours she had been back.

"There are other things in the galaxy besides you, princess," Tony said.

"I'm well aware of that. That hasn't kept them from questioning me before."

"Maybe they've got no use for you now."

She scoffed. "Then what's the use of _that_ thing?" she asked, jerking her chin toward the server.

"Point taken."

Tony was silent for a while, but finally he sighed. "Rumor has it, there were sightings."

Clara swallowed back her fear and tried to keep her expression calm. _So the Dark Elves found a way to get here after all…_

"Not even S.H.I.E.L.D. knows what it is, but in the last few days they've found some objects that shouldn't be there."

"Like a UFO?" Clara asked.

"Like the Mars rover," he said. "Or a space station. Just not the one from _this_ planet."

"Is someone exploring _us?_"

"Could be," Tony said. "Looks like your boyfriend was right." He gave her a sidelong glance that dared her to defy his choice of words. She didn't. He smirked and, turning back to the task at hand, added, "Thor said that screwing around with the Tesseract would draw other life-forms to Earth. Guess we have some new neighbors peeking into our backyard."

"What are they gonna do?"

"Beats me," he said. "Hope you and Thor stay on friendly terms. We might need the Asgardians to help guard our asses after all."

Clara was quiet and contemplative for the rest of her time at Stark Tower. Everything Tony said was speculation. And she should have been relieved that S.H.I.E.L.D. had taken a little of the pressure off her. But she was afraid—afraid that her world was being threatened again, and afraid that Thor might not be able to help them after all, especially with his own concerns with the Svartálfar.

Her worries were of sufficient strength that she could hardly appreciate the enormous favor that Tony was doing for her and her own work. She barely summoned up enough gratitude when it was time to leave, burdened with the knowledge he had shared with her and knowing that she had to keep silent.

Even if she had been able to feel relief, however, it would not have lasted long anyway.


End file.
